


Malaise

by Briarwitched



Series: Of Madness and Mammals [1]
Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: MI6 sucks, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prison, Reluctant!Babysitter!Yassen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-09-17 17:02:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 77,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16978503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Briarwitched/pseuds/Briarwitched
Summary: Yassen knew it wouldn't end well for little Alex. The assassin's dull existence within the secret prison in Gibraltar is disrupted suddenly by the little spy's arrival. Babysitting a traumatized teenager with violent fits, mood swings, and who firmly believes that they're both dead wasn't exactly how Yassen imagined he'd spend his retirement. This stupid family.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello, everyone! This is my first fic, so please feel free to offer insights, criticism, and corrections as you see fit. I'm pretty comfortable taking feedback, so no need to use kid gloves. As I'm sure you'll pick up from my word choice, I'm American, though I've tried to mind the nationalities of each character in their dialogue (even if calling a bathroom a loo sounds silly to me). Let me know if I fumbled anything as I'm always happy to learn! Also, bear in mind that while this story does have a few OCs, they are neither romantic interests nor main characters. As for timelines, which are my next great weakness, I did my best to cobble together a rough estimation of Alex's missions which span about a year and a half. As for the current time period, I went with "vaguely after the year 2000 to sometime in the present", since Horowitz himself seems to enjoy tap-dancing around the topic. Honestly, I kind of admire the strength of his backpedal in Eagle Strike: "but that assassin we met in the first book only LOOKED twenty-eight, because now I've decided he needed to have trained with Alex's dad and he has to be thirty-five for that to make any sense. Murder is amazing for the skin, guys."
> 
> Takes place after Scorpia Rising, with some minor tweaks. For the sake of the story, Alex never went to live with the Pleasures.

Yassen Gregorovich watched with little interest as Agent Scully drew her weapon and fired at the swamp creature charging her. Across from him, feet kicked up on the warden's wife's floral patterned couch, his therapist rolled her eyes as the creature toppled backwards.

"It's almost like the intern stuffed into that costume fell and they kept the cameras rolling," she said, her western American drawl decidedly pronounced as the credits began to roll. Twisting to stare at him from her perch on her couch, she added, "Season four has some weird episodes. I promise, though, they kind of figure out what to do with Mulder's character in the next."

Yassen made a non-committal sound, having only half paid attention to the episode anyway. It was marginally better than actual therapy, he supposed.

His sessions had all the hallmarks of little to no oversight, though Yassen was well aware that nothing in the Gibraltar prison went truly unobserved. While the ever-present cameras and audio recording devices were naturally absent in the warden's private domain, the thermal imaging surveillance and motion tracking were in full force since the Grief child had managed to escape.

The therapy sessions themselves were testament to both that and Yassen's own capture. While Yassen had been captured and revived by British officers, the problem remained that he had been removed from Air Force One- technically a small chunk of American soil that could travel anywhere in the world without losing it's sovereignty. The CIA and MI6 had some drawn out pissing match over who had jurisdiction over him while he'd been interrogated, even if he'd never heard the exact details. He knew enough, however, to guess that the American administrator that arrived at the prison the same day as Yassen must be part of their eventual solution.

After the Grief child (with his unnerving, twisted face and cold, flat voice) had made his great escape, the bored American administrator had evidently found himself an escape route from his boring desk position: Julius Grief had taken his therapist hostage. Later, it would be chalked up to Dr. Flint's failings rather than an inherent flaw in the position. According to the guards, the Grief boy revealed the existence of a note in his bed during a game of spontaneous word association.

Therapy became mandatory for all inmates. Yassen wasn't naive enough to think that a prison that only thinly veiled it's intent to warehouse prisoners for the rest of their natural lives gave a single shit about the mental health of said inmates. The half-trained, young, not-quite-a-CIA-agent-or-therapist proved that. However, it made sense as an early detection system: the right or wrong comment could unveil a shifting intent in one of the prisoners.

Yassen wasn't concerned with his own weekly sessions. He hadn't talked during interrogation and he would reveal nothing now. If making his way through the X-files was the price for a therapist who didn't even attempt to ask questions, it was an easy enough one to pay. He doubted anyone in charge at the prison cared either: he'd either decide to talk of he wouldn't. "Enhanced interrogation" had already failed. The therapy was more of a bureaucratic formality, an empty gesture to show some consideration towards improving the facility's security using any means available to them.

Glancing at her notebook, the only sign of her actual position, Dr. Wood cleared her throat. "Right, right. Anything you want to say about how this episode made you feel, Six?"

Yassen raised a single eyebrow.

"Ambivalent," she scribbled carefully before looking up at him. "That counts, you know. Anyhow, you're session is up for the week. Just two more episodes and we'll be in season five. Think about your feelings or something."

Standing, Yassen left without bothering with any kind of farewell. It was unlikely she'd noticed anyway.

The sun shone brightly over the lush green manicured lawns and raised flower beds. Staring out over the vegetable garden, Yassen could almost ignore the electrified razor-wire fence lining the perimeter of the compound and the guards on constant patrol. Every detail was familiar to him, ever face memorized. He'd long since assessed what he could about the security and found it impenetrable, even to him. All he could do was wait.

How long had he been here now? The answer came quickly. Fourteen and a half months.

There were worse places to rot away the rest of your life, he supposed.

Not exactly thrilled to be revived in the care of the British authorities, Yassen had to admit that his current position mimicked at least a portion of his retirement plans. Long stretches of boredom, unlimited free time, only without the possibility of performing the occasional hit for the sake of staying sharp.

Empty day stretching before him, Yassen followed the weaving, dusty path past another series of raised flowerbeds towards the small library. He'd already read most everything in it and their lack of selection was a constant source of frustration for him. Review was boring, but his only relief. Still trying to learn Japanese, the library only possessed two donated books on the language: one a traveler's introduction to easy phrases while the second focused on medical terminology. Hardly ideal if he wanted to ever pass for a native speaker, but it would have to do for now.

Unhurried, he loped his way across the grass, taking a small shortcut between the warden's house and the library. On the lawn, the two terrorists reclined in their favorite rickety chairs and enjoyed the warm late summer sun, chatting sofly in Arabic.

Fluent as a native, Yassen's ear picked out a few choice words: "guards", "nervous", and "new arrival". His steps slowed.

Interesting.

They both spotted him, half turning in their chairs to face him.

"Done with your session, Six?" Ahmed asked, still in Arabic. It was no secret that Yassen spoke their language. If anything, it endeared him to them; after all, there was something soothing about hearing your own language when you were constantly surrounded by English. At Yassen's nod, he continued, "I suppose that means it's almost time for mine. Dr. Wood is very interested in my high school years lately-so unlike her own…."

Yassen knew for a fact that she was not. She'd made no secret of despairing over anyone who entered her office with the intent of engaging in actual therapy, rather than watching various television series she was interested in. He might actually hate her if he allowed himself the indulgence of an opinion. Willful incompetence had always grated on his need for precision: he'd shot men for less. Here, it was hardly his concern.

"Talking to that woman is a waste of time." The other terrorist, Abed, shook his head and looked at Yassen directly. "Have you heard the guards talking? Mateo mentioned a new arrival, but something's got them worried."

Painfully aware that he had nothing better to do, Yassen waved a hand for the man to continue and sat in the chair next to the man, accepting the obvious lure into the conversation as Ahmed started towards the warden's villa. "What about?"

"I didn't hear all the details, but-" Abed lowered his voice another few decibels, despite the fact that they were almost certainly being listened to with perfect clarity somewhere in the control room. "-they kept bringing up Julius."

That was interesting. Yassen folded his arms, expression unchanged. "I thought they concluded he was dead after his car went off a cliff."

Abed shrugged with obvious delight, waving a sharp hand at the entrance of the prison. "That's what I heard too! How shocking would it be if he returned after all these months? Or perhaps it is one of his brothers. The clones."

Yassen shrugged. "I doubt the French would share custody with the British. I assume this facility only held Julius because he was arrested in Britain." He had heard the filtered version of the story, including the ever vague connections to Alex Rider, which shifted with every retelling. Even that had not compared to his initial shock when the cloned boy arrived wearing an uncomfortably familiar face.

"So far as I know," Abed said, studying him. He smiled. "Unless you know something about the French and British custody chain that I don't, Six?"

Yassen didn't take the bait, staring back impassively at the man. Every so often his fellow inmates would try and squeeze a hint of information out of him, something that would reveal another clue about who he was. Everyone at the prison, from the warden to the janitors, had no idea of his actual identity. His file had been deliberately kept bereft.

Not everything was unknown, of course. It was common knowledge that he was a contract killer of enough importance to warrant formal cooperation with the CIA, but his name, age, and nationality weren't included in the sparse amount of information. As far as the world inside the prison was concerned, he was simply prisoner number six. All other information was limited to what physical characteristics were plainly observable: 5'10", blonde, blue eyed, and male.

It didn't take much to guess the motivations for keeping his jailers in the dark. While the warden would undoubtedly prefer as much information as possible, MI6 could hardly take the risk of moles or sleeper agents within their own organization. He was a high value target, one of Scorpia's top earners for over a decade. Despite his unwillingness to chat, Yassen was a potential treasure trove of information that could be used to take down several central segments of the organization. It would behoove any number of people to see that Yassen died well before he had the chance to spill his guts, not that he had any intention of doing so. After the failed efforts to interrogate him, the next best thing MI6 could do was to hide him. He doubted anyone lower on the totem pole than the head knew exactly where he was.

After another few moments of silence, Abed waved a hand in defeat. "Can't blame me for trying. I suppose we'll know by the end of the day who our mystery prisoner is. Hopefully, it's someone old enough to drink this time. I'd hate for them to remove the mini-bar from the dining hall again."

O

Alex Rider blinked as the afternoon sun assaulted his eyes. As the darkness provided by the blacked out windows of the van now peeled away, he squinted at his surroundings. The two agents transporting him grabbed him by the arms, grips only slightly accommodating the cuffs that secured his wrists together. Staggering, he managed to get his feet under himself as two unfamiliar guards in olive shirts and dark pants approached.

The first of the new guards nodded to the agents and tapped something on his radio. It let out a small bleep. "Glad to see you arrived in one piece. Take him directly to the villa, please. He's expected."

Whatever sedative had been in the injection last night must have been quite potent. He still couldn't quite work observations into thoughts, still feeling half asleep, but that didn't stop his initial instinct to look around for clues as to where he was, to scan for the ever-present danger.

At least his relocation hadn't been a surprise. The three weeks he'd spent confined in the psychiatric ward they'd moved him to after he'd escaped Saint Dominic's notwithstanding, Mrs. Jones explained that they could no longer provide him with the care he needed.

It was nice to speak with her so frankly: now that he was too sick to function in the field, it wasn't like she wanted anything from him.

"I'm very sorry, Alex," she'd said, voice crisp but just wavering enough to make him think she half believed the tired sentiment. "You just aren't getting better. We're going to move you somewhere else to recover. A new facility where you can get the long term support you need."

If it hadn't been for the heavy sedatives coursing through him at the time, he would have lunged at her instead of scowling mutely. That, and the straps securing him to his hospital bed, put there to prevent him from attempting that particular action a second time. What could Alex say? He had the heart of a problem solver.

Flames seemed to coil around her, erupting out of the floor, surrounding his bed, and washing his face with a blast of hot air. He'd cringed back, coughing, unable to climb away from the searing heat threatening to bake him alive. Sweat broke out across his forehead. Even though he knew it was pointless, he couldn't help but attempt to point out the obvious. "I'm going to burn. Why are you just standing there and letting me burn?"

Her smile was sad and edged with pity. She couldn't see the flames, of course. Or maybe she was the devil and secretly enjoyed his distress.

Alex knew on some level that they weren't real, that Julius wasn't actually lurking around the corner of his school at the moment, and that Alex himself, in fact, was not located there at all. Tulip Jones was not the devil and had little to do with the Point Blank academy apart from sending him there in the first place. He was in the psych ward, and as much as that made his stomach twist, he understood. If only he could convince his racing heart and frantic brain of any of this, already kicking into overdrive and urging him to _get out_ and _get away right now_. He fought the restraints until eventually Jones called a nurse to sedate him.

Scowling, he glanced around at this "new facility". His first impression was of a lot of white weatherboarding, pretty in a Spanish style he'd become familiar with when Ian had taken them to live abroad. Curved red tile roofs baked warmly in the sunshine above painted blue shutters, and a distant villa winking at him from the walls. Flower beds and dusty winding paths wove around various buildings, shining in the mist generated by an automatic watering system. Glancing at the wood and brick buildings, Alex frowned with a quiet hum he wasn't quite conscious of making. If it wasn't for the barbed wire fence running along the interior of the wall, as well as the patrolling guards carrying automatic rifles, he would have said he was at some high-end rehab facility.

Where was he?

Jack would have said that she was glad that MI6 had finally shelled out the dough to put him up somewhere swanky. That he'd earned it. Detoxing with the stars and getting sober with all his favorite celebrities. She would have laughed and asked him to get her Robert Downey Jr.'s autograph.

His throat closed, feeling pain and grief penetrate his fog. Not even three months ago, she'd burned. Well, the parts of her that hadn't exploded all over the Egyptian desert.

Still wearing the thin blue scrubs provided by psyche facility, Alex found himself unceremoniously dragged down the closest path, courtesy of the agents MI6 had provided to escort him and much to the consternation of the new guards. They stared, eyes raking over him with uneasy disbelief.

Alex fought the sudden urge to touch his face. Had the crocodiles eaten it while he'd slept? Surely not. That would be crazy.

He wasn't entirely able to convince himself.

Alex blinked, suddenly aware that his escorts were trying to wrangle his uncooperative legs up the stairs of the villa he'd seen before in the distance. With a start, he straightened out his limbs and began the short climb. The slippers provided by the psyche ward slapped softly against the brick.

One of the new guards, a rifle slung across his chest, knocked twice on the front door before pulling it open. "Warden? Prisoner seven has arrived."

Prisoner? Alex supposed that was more honest than calling him a patient. Almost refreshing, actually. He smiled at him. The guard started and quickly stepped away, clearly unnerved.

Alex wiggled his nose experimentally. It seemed to still be there, but maybe his face had been eaten after all.

Landscape paintings hung along the walls of the entryway, featuring various seascapes and small boats, while the rest of the area had been surrounded by floral arrangements and polished wood furniture. On a handsome wooden table sat small series of screens that showed the exterior of the porch. They'd been seen coming long before they arrived.

The warden himself was a short, muscular man with close cropped silver hair. His crisp army fatigues seemed rather at odds with the upscale Disneyland resort appearance of the rest of the place. "Right on time. Let's move this into my office. I hope your stay here will be more comfortable than your trip, Mr. Rider."

Alex stared at him. He opened his mouth to say something along the lines of "Let's hope your rehab is more comfortable than a windowless van with shot suspension", but the words caught in his throat. A flash of teeth ensnared his mind, the whisper of a scaled belly dragging itself across the warden's polished wood floors. Instead, he twisted his hands in his restraints as he was led into an adjacent room and let out a strained giggle.

Maybe he should ask if he could speak with Robert Downey Jr. instead.

The warden's eyes narrowed, pausing beside his desk. A quick glance at the agent to Alex's left. "How lucid is he?"

The agent, a grim, light-haired man in his mid-thirties that Alex had nicknamed Chin, exchanged a glance with his partner, a hispanic looking man Alex had begun to refer to as Bull in his head. Simultaneously, they pressed on Alex's shoulders until he collapsed into the plush, green leather chair set in front of the walnut desk. "It comes and goes, sir. The sedatives used to ensure his smooth relocation were atypical for his condition but should wear off soon. We were told he may have some temporary cognitive impairment. You may have to re-explain things to him."

Nodding, the warden sat in his own chair. "I see. Complete the transfer paperwork at the gate before you leave. My men can take it from here." As they removed Alex's handcuffs and left, the warden wiggled his mouse until the light of his screen flashed across his face. Alex got the impression that he was trying to avoid looking at him, lips pressed into a hard line. "Mr. Rider, I'm sure you've had a tiring morning, but I'd rather get straight to the point. You need to understand that this is a prison first and foremost. While we have every intention to see to your psychiatric needs and address any lingering chemical dependency on recreational drugs-"

"I'm not dependant," Alex muttered. His stomach sank as he hunched in his chair.

Prison. Jones hadn't sent him to rehab or a new psych ward. She'd sent him to prison.

One of the guards shifted uneasily behind him, covering the door.

He'd killed that agent, he was certain of it, but somehow he hadn't expected to be locked up for it. He hadn't even known the man. In a hazy way, it felt like another mission. Was this punishment for failing his last assignment?

The warden ignored his outburst. "The safety of my staff and the security of the other prisoners comes first. If you put a toe out of line, expect to be treated as a violent inmate. I'm not thrilled to have another child grace our complex, so expect to be treated as an adult. You will follow any orders and instructions you are given at all times. Any deviation will have severe consequences. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," Alex said, tongue feeling thick. Or maybe it was his eyes filling with liquid. Prison. His fuzzy brain plucked another thought from the warden's speech. "Wait. Another child?"

The man turned to face him, meeting his eyes at last. "Previous to you, we had another inmate around your age. There were problems with his incarceration. He is no longer with us."

Studying Alex's face, taking in his furrowed brows and his hunched position as he curled up in his chair, the warden sighed. "Normally, I wouldn't discuss a previous prisoner, but I'm afraid there are some… additional complications that will need to be addressed. It would seem you two share a lot of similarities. There is bound to be confusion on the part of the staff and other inmates."

Alex drew his legs up onto the chair, only half convinced he'd imagined the slide of scale and carapace along the back of his calf. "Because we're both children?"

The silver-haired man hesitated, eyes flicking sharply to his screen before he apparently decided how he wanted to approach the matter. "Because you have identical faces. Or near identical. My files on you include a note that you should already be familiar with the history of Julius Grief, given your involvement with him."

Alex couldn't breathe. He twisted in his chair, voice rising. "This is where Julius lived? She sent me to where Julius was?" A new thought branched off of that one. "I've replaced him?"

Tensing in his seat, the warden shot a glance at the guard "I'm going to need you to calm down, Rider. You will be sedated if necessary."

Sucking in a deep breath, Alex forced himself to sit rigidly in his chair. No sudden movements. "But I can't- He killed- I had to, you don't understand-"

The warden held up a hand, eyes hardening. "I don't know the full story and frankly, it's my job not to know. This facility is designed to operate in isolation. Most people don't even know it exists. Your file only includes the most essential information and only a few notes on the matter of your relationship with Julius as a special consideration. At any rate, it doesn't matter beyond the confusion you may encounter from the staff. We were unaware that we would be receiving you until last night and have not been unable to update all of our personnel regarding the resemblance. I'm only telling you this because I simply want to avoid any nasty surprises for you."

Alex could barely focus on the man. He was in prison, the very same secret prison where Julius Grief had been held until Scorpia had rescued him. Until Rahim had supported his mad delusions of revenge. The place he'd lived before he'd kidnapped Alex and Jack and…

He felt as though he were falling into an endless void yawning beneath him. What were the odds? How could this happen? His fingernails digging into the skin of his hands helped clear his head of the sedative fog.

"I need to speak with Mrs. Jones," Alex said, clenching harder. The pain gave him something to focus on. "There's been a mistake. I can't be in prison. I was never even tried, must less sentenced. I never even spoke to an attorney. I shouldn't be here."

The warden's face smoothed so swiftly that Alex knew he was about to hate whatever came out of the man's mouth next. He carefully swept a hand across his desk, pushing the mouse out of his way before he brought them together in a loose clasp. "Normally, I don't have this conversation very often. Most within our walls know exactly what they've done to earn a place here. This is not your typical prison, son. No phone calls, no letters, no barristers. In most official records, we don't exist."

Alex's ears rang. "I need to speak with Mrs. Jones. Call her right now."

"I'm afraid that's not possible." The warden didn't break his steady gaze. "I can submit a request, if you like, but it is unlikely to be approved."

"How long am I going to be here?" Alex demanded, his voice having dropped to a ragged hush. He stared at his lap, willing the tears away.

_A new facility where you can get the long term support you need…._

For probably the millionth time in the last month, Alex wished he'd killed the woman when he'd had the chance.

Considering him for a long moment, the warden ultimately took a deep breath and shook his head. Alex knew his face was being scoured for any other signs of mental instability. Bad news then. Alex fought the mad urge to clap his hands over his ears; no point in robbing himself of confirmation.

"There are no fixed sentences here."

Alex wanted to lash out, to scream at the warden that this wasn't fair and couldn't possibly be legal. He felt the terrified energy working through his limbs, threatening to spill over into some desperate escape attempt. The only thing keeping him from going down that route was the opposing sensation spreading through him; all of his spirit drained from his head to pool into his toes, leaving pinpricks of dread to flare like drowning embers in their wake.

Jones had said that they wanted him to recover but she had lied. He was almost surprised at his own surprise. Of course she had. They didn't want him back, they wanted him out of the way. Why else would she send him to a prison and not another psychiatric hospital for proper treatment? Why send him to a super secret barely-exists-on-paper facility if they intended to send for him? He was being discarded permanently, somewhere where even if someone was willing to believe an insane teenager with a so-called drug problem, his story would never be permitted to leave its walls.

 _I never wanted any of this_. Alex wrapped his arms around himself and swallowed back the tears pricking at his eyes again. He'd praise Blunt as a humanitarian philosopher before he allowed any to fall in front of these fucking people, but he couldn't stop the panicked gasps that ripped their way up his rib cage. That particular brand of panic attack had been coming and going over the last few weeks. _It's not fair. I didn't even want to work for them in the first place. They did this to me and now that I can't handle missions anymore they've stuck me here to forget about me?_

It was like waking up, again and again, to find himself trapped in the same nightmare.

Shifting awkwardly in his seat, the warden averted his gaze while Alex rode unwillingly into the storm of his panic attack. Turning back to the boy, he assumed a much more cheerful facade, seemingly now hyper-aware that he was addressing a psychologically damaged fifteen-year-old. "Now, son, I don't mean to make it sound like a death sentence. Our facilities here are quite lovely, not at all what I imagine that you're expecting. We've got plenty to keep you busy, from our library and our workshop and even our gym. I'm sure if you wanted to, you could even help out in the garden. Once you've caught your breath, we'll take a nice tour and I'll explain the rules. Have you eaten lunch?"

Alex didn't want a nice tour, he didn't want lunch, and he especially didn't want to stay anywhere near this cold warden with his uneasy eyes. All he wanted was to be back in his Chelsea house, listening to Jack drop things as she threw together a ten-minute meal that came fifty percent from a package. He wanted to work on his homework with Tom, with Spongebob or some other easy, stupid kid show on for background noise.

The warden stood, grabbed a clipboard from his desk, scribbled something, and otherwise averted his gaze from Alex. After another minute or two, Alex's breathing had yet to even out. He nodded to one of the guards. "Alright, son. You've got two options here: you can calm down on your own or take another round of sedatives. Which will it be?"

Alex glared, still sucking air. "If I could calm down, don't you think I would prefer to?"

They exited the warden's private villa just as the little blue pills they'd forced him to swallow kicked in. Rather than feeling fuzzy around the edges, these had a floaty sensation, leaving him only semi-interested in whatever was going on around him. Half present, Alex decided he was actually okay with this strange, partial awareness he'd slipped into. Had they accidentally gotten him high?

He hoped so.

It probably wasn't great for his reaction time, should something jump out at him. His years of rearing by Ian fought against that, but whatever they'd given him had thrown a damp cloth over the burning fear that ate at him ceaselessly these last few months. Everything was broken but that was fine. The cool relief was worth it.

The warden started talking again. Alex forced himself to pay attention with half an ear, mustering the energy to take stock of the complex as each building was introduced, followed by the same standard rules Alex would have expected any prison, private school, or mildly overprotective summer camp to have. Obey all orders and instructions without hesitation, stay only in the approved areas, lights out at ten, do not enter another inmate's room, do not approach the electrified fence, do not attempt to tamper with any of the surveillance equipment…

Alex swallowed the urge to ask when they'd be making friendship bracelets, half afraid that they'd have an actual date and time set aside already.

Nodding to a collection of rickety chairs arranged beneath a small cluster of wide cyprus trees, the warden went on. "As you can see, right next to the library is one of the three outdoor areas we have within the walls. Occasionally, we hold lectures here but they are generally unreserved. The other two sitting areas are located next to…."

Alex squinted. There was something familiar about the figure reclined in one of the lawn chairs. Something about the posture, or maybe the short blonde hair catching the mid-afternoon sunlight. His eyes lingered on the red cover of the book in the man's hands: Seventy Simple Travel Phrases for Touring Tokyo! An odd choice.

Alex blinked, unsure of when exactly his path had deviated away from the tour and onto the lush green grass. It seemed unusually bright out. He blinked again, meeting the clear blue eyes regarding him cooly for the first time.

"You look well for a dead boy," Yassen Gregorovich said, returning his gaze to his book.

Alex fell back a step, eyes going wide.

Of course. That explained everything!

The prison Julius had stayed at, the lack of a trial for Alex's crimes, the way reality flickered back and forth between making sense and descending into Cheshire cat levels of madness….

"I'm dead too now?" Alex asked, tilting his head. Unsure. Should he be more upset?

A heartbeat passed, excruciatingly slow.

Yassen's head snapped back up. His eyes narrowed, taking in Alex standing there wearing the hospital-provided scrubs and slippers. The assassin himself was dressed exactly as Alex had remembered him in France: white t-shirt and blue jeans, fitted well and a little expensive looking. Cool, in a way Alex resented in his uncle's murderer.

Swallowing, Alex's voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "When did it happen to me? Do you know?"

"Little Alex?" the Russian asked, a hint of surprise creeping into the diminutive.

A hand gripped Alex's elbow. "The warden isn't-"

_-Cray's men were closing in, still disguised as US military members as they dragged the bodies off of Air Force One, bloody trails in the carpet-_

Spinning around, Alex swung his elbow up and into the stomach of his attacker before his brain was able to recognize the olive green of the guard's uniform. "Stop it!" he snarled, without thinking. "Don't touch me."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks so much for all of your comments! As always, let me know if you find any errors or gaps in logic. Updates will likely be on Mondays.
> 
> There's actually a second matter I was hoping to get opinions on. This story was actually my NaNoWriMo project, so the entire thing is complete. I've planned on releasing it chapter by chapter, mostly to buy myself time for revisions. However, this week our chapter is a little short on Alex's POV and since he's such a central part of the series and fandom, I don't want anyone to feel cheated. Should I post the next chapter as well or is everyone alright with catching up with him next week?

Yassen watched with something close to shock flickering in his chest as Alex Rider quickly lost his fight against the four guards rushing to subdue him. The boy got in one solid punch to the first guard's face and a decent spinning kick to the next's rib cage before he was tackled by the entirety of his escort. It took one grabbing each arm and another two securing his middle and feet before they were able to pin the thrashing teenager against the grass. A flurry of curses erupted from the pile, the distinct Londoner accent lending it almost a comedic air.

Meanwhile, Yassen set his book down and rested his hands on the arms of his chair, careful to keep them relaxed and in sight of the patrolling gunmen now holding their rifles at attention.

Striding forward, the warden gave a quick jerk of his head and they resumed their patrols. He folded his arms. "Prisoner seven's status?"

Mateo, one of the senior guards, broke away from the group just as Alex seemed to realize that thrashing was a waste of energy. He continued to insult the marital status of his subduers' parents, however. "Under control. Possibly injured."

The warden nodded, face pinched in displeasure. "Cuff him and take him to the infirmary. See if it's safe to give him anything else to calm him down while you're at it."

"Yes, sir," Mateo replied, reaching for the handcuffs clipped to the belt.

The warden and Yassen watched them lead a limping and bloodied nosed Alex away in silence. As the gaggle disappeared, hard eyes flicked to the assassin, who remained completely relaxed in his seat.

"What'd you say to him?"

Yassen shrugged. There was no point in lying. "Hardly anything. I thought he was Julius."

Shrewd eyes narrowed. "But he's not. He walked right over to you and you knew his name."

It wasn't a question. The warden wanted to know more, Yassen was sure of it, but at the same time understood that poking too deeply into his anonymous prisoner's past was a surefire way to invite a swift conclusion to an otherwise cushy position. He wouldn't push, at least not very hard.

Of course, information could be volunteered.

"We've met before," Yassen said, enjoying the flicker of annoyance that earned him.

"I'd gathered as much." The warden clasped his hands behind his back, eyes refusing to leave Yassen's face.

Yassen drummed his fingers against the armrests idly. The warden was unnerved by Alex, nearly as unnerved as Yassen himself had been when the wrong voice had responded from the face he'd eventually grown to accept as Julius Grief's. A touch of irony in the reversal of their positions, perhaps. The circumstances were highly unusual, likely enough to make the warden wish for any more information aside from the broad strokes MI6 had likely provided; information he might not be necessarily comfortable getting anywhere else.

Perhaps there could be an exchange.

"You could say I'm friend of the family," Yassen told him without a trace of humor.

The warden's eyes narrowed. Out of seven total international prisoners, the odds alone were astronomical. "That so?"

Just one more free taste, then Yassen would demand his own answers. "Intelligence work runs in his family the way suicide or twins run in others. British intelligence alone is a small world." It took a mild amount of work to keep the bitterness from his voice.

Why couldn't this stupid family leave him alone?

Yassen took a sharp breath. "What is he doing here?"

The warden sucked on his teeth. Yassen had humored him when he'd had no reason to, without sharing enough to put either of them in jeopardy. Despite the inequality of power, they were both permanent fixtures at the prison. Harmony had to be maintained, yet a debt was now owed.

"I can't share any private details," he admitted to Yassen's complete and utter lack of surprise. "But I suppose it will soon be no secret that he's fresh from a psychiatric ward, has a list of diagnoses and medications taller than himself, and that an impressive quarter of his file focuses on his recent history of violent outbursts much like that one."

Yassen furrowed his brows. Alex had been fine a year ago. Not that they'd ever said more than a handful of words to each other, but the child's calm grasp on reality had seemed unusually good given his age. It was probably half the reason he could function as a child spy in the first place. "Diagnoses?"

The warden shook his head and began the trek to the administrative building. "I won't get into that, but perhaps you'll have a chance to ask him yourself. Enjoy the sunshine, Six."

O

Dr. Briar Wood stared at the patient file spread out over her desk in the administrative building, head braced in her hands. Her office was cramped but cheerful: a wide window allowed plenty of natural sunlight to stream across her bookshelves, filing cabinets, and decorative plants. Her desk was an older dented metal piece, probably leftover from some old military base located somewhere bland, but suited her needs just fine; just enough room to hold a stackable set of wire desk trays, her desktop computer, and Battlestar Galactica bobblehead collection. She had the luxury of a private office; most of the staff apart from the nurse and head guard had to share common work spaces on the first floor below.

She sat up straight and exhaled as the door clicked shut. "Fuck."

Thirty minutes ago, the warden rapped on her office door with a polite greeting before plopping this file on the desk. She almost hadn't bothered getting to it, last session already finished for the day. It was probably a request for a status report or a generalized psychological evaluation. Surely it could wait for tomorrow.

Something in the warden's posture as he turned towards the door had put her on edge, though. Her eyes narrowed. Since when had he delivered such things personally?

He must have felt her staring. "We received a new patient today. This is his file." He hesitated before turning back to her. "Actually, we should probably go over this now. He's quite the special case."

She smiled, forcing down the sinking feeling. "Aren't they all?"

The warden exhaled out his nose, chest bobbing in a not-quite laugh. Briar strongly suspected he was well aware of her lackadaisical approach to therapy, despite the lack of surveillance within the actual sessions themselves. He might disapprove, but there was no arguing the point that her job was barely necessary to begin with. "This one more so. Do you remember what happened to your predecessor, Mrs. Flint?"

Briar raised an eyebrow. "The one held at gunpoint by that cloned kid? I thought he was dead."

The warden nodded. "He is. However, are you familiar with his pathology?"

She glanced at the filing cabinet beside her and folded her arms, offering an only slightly embarrassed smile. "I admit, I may have been a little curious. For the sake of understanding my patients' responses to the upset, of course. I got the broad strokes of his case, anyway. Why?"

"The boy had an unhealthy fixation on the child of a millionaire he was supposed to replace, a boy whom he thought at the time was named Alex Friend, but who later turned out to be a fraud."

Briar nodded. "Right. Stepford Wives style scheme. Go on."

"As it turns out, the child in question was actually a fourteen year old British spy named Alex Rider." The warden held up a hand. "Don't even ask me about the legality of that, because I have no insight. Julius had a complicated hatred for Alex, especially after he had plastic surgery to make them more or less identical." The warden hesitated again and glanced back towards the open door before quickly shutting it.

Briar leaned forward. "And?"

"The official story is that as Julius escaped, he died when his car went over that cliff. However, the files I have received in the last two days-" The warden tapped the manila folder on the desk. "-indicate that he was assisted by a larger terrorist organization called Scorpia. Not only did they help him escape alive, they kept him successfully hidden in Egypt where he encountered Alex again, intending to kill him and frame him for murdering the United States Secretary of State."

Briar stared at the warden in horror. "Wait. What's that got to do with our new arrival? Has Julius returned?"

"No," the warden said, straightening. "Our new arrival is Alex Rider, the agent who shot and killed Julius three months ago."

Whipping the file open, Briar glared down at the photograph paperclipped to the top page. Curious brown eyes stared back at her from a thin, angular face with high cheekbones. Cute. Dark blonde hair worn an inch or two longer than typical for a boy his age. A school photo, judging by the uniform. "You're joking. Why? What are the odds he'd be sent-?"

Her eyes skimmed the summary of his current list of diagnoses and symptoms. It was… staggering, for such a short time frame and for such a young person. Thorough, too, as he'd obviously been carefully observed for the last month.

She jerked her head up to meet the warden's eyes, biting her lip. "We can't treat him here. Send him back. I don't have the resources for something of this magnitude."

Or the qualifications. Or the willingness. She didn't say those ones out loud.

The warden sighed and folded his arms. "There's no helping it. He killed an MI6 agent and injured at least dozen other bystanders when they tried to bring him in for a routine debriefing. That's when they discovered the extent of his psychiatric problems. He's too dangerous to let roam free, but they can't keep him in a typical psychiatric unit either, due to the sensitive nature of the information he possesses."

"Information?" Briar's eyes narrowed as she flipped through the rest of the file, frustration rising. "You mean the fact that he's a fourteen year old spy?"

"Fifteen," the warden corrected, allowing his arms to drop to the sides. "We don't have to like it, but this kid is a danger to himself and to others. There's no denying he's a special case. Your reports on your sessions with him will have to be far more extensive than the others have been. We'll do everything we can for him, as per our instructions, but MI6 isn't willing to consider his transfer to another facility unless he shows significant signs of improvement."

Her mouth dropped open. "Are you joking?" She jabbed a finger down at the page. "Did you even read this? The first ten diagnoses are various flavors of severe PTSD and that's not even addressing the psychotic symptoms, schizoid patterns, and violent behavior." She ripped another page out from underneath the one she was pointing to, slapping it against the table. "Have you seen his medications? I've hardly glanced at it and I already know there's no chance his reports will satisfy them any time soon. Antidepressants, anti-psychotics, sedatives, and tranquilizers to start, not accounting for the ones listed that I don't even recognize. His file says he's recently completed withdrawal for-" she scanned the list and set it back down. "A fuckton of opiates. It could take years to detangle what his actual symptoms are from the goddamn side effects of his medications and we aren't even looking at withdrawal!"

The warden grimaced, though whether it was at her phrasing or the situation, she couldn't guess. "There's a note in there you probably didn't see. They've included a handy list of fast-acting injectable tranquilizers previously used to help contain his violent fits. We haven't received our supply from the Royal Gibraltar Regiment stores yet, but they're due tomorrow. You may need to calculate those side effects too. I suspect we'll need to use them regularly."

Pressing her palms together beneath her chin, Briar tried another tactic. She spread her hands helplessly. "I have to be honest with you, warden: I'm barely qualified to treat adults. The concurrent degree program in the CIA is a joke if you're not an actual agent. I did half of it online. I've had no real training on treating children, especially not one that's probably seen more fucked up shit than half the people we incarcerate. It's not that I don't want to try, it's just that he needs more than what I am capable of providing."

It took a long moment before he spoke, words heavy with consideration. "When I received his file, I raised similar concerns about our ability to provide adequate psychiatric care, given our failures with Julius. However, my superiors have made their priorities clear: we are to contain him first and foremost, and focus on treating him second. His potential improvement is only one outcome of many acceptable to them."

Briar stared at him. It was hard to swallow, even knowing the nature of several of her current patients' incarceration. The nature of the prison itself. There was a difference, though: the adults had certainly not ended up here on accident. This was a teenager who had likely only barely understood the decisions he'd made. MI6 was really willing to let this poor kid rot here for life rather than risk exposure for their own involvement in his condition?

Of course they would.

Her fists clenched as she flipped through the abbreviated descriptions of this kid's past missions. The beginnings of a headache settled around her temples. Plenty of PTSD fodder there.

"I see," she said, exhaling a breath that rattled her all the way down to her bones.

Christ.

The warden paused by the doorway. "Tell me if you need anything else for him. I can't make any promises, but I'll see what I can do."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Alright, alright. Here's a second chapter for the day, as requested. As always, let me know if you see any errors or logical gaps/confusing bits. :)

Alex lay on the bed in his cell. The duvet was plain white cotton, smooth and soft as a cloud against his back. A flat screen TV had been mounted across from his bed, beneath which a barren white melamine dresser stood with a DVR and DVD player perched atop it. He wondered briefly if most prisons had cable. Beside that area was a bright but metal-barred window above a small, sturdy desk, completely empty save for the small cardboard box the guards who'd escorted him to his cell had left behind. His belongings. Across from that was a small door, ajar to expose a small but functional bathroom.

How wonderful. The Ritz of prisons.

Sighing and curling on his side, he ignored the ache in his ribs with the help of whatever the nurse guy had given him. Apart from a litany of bruises, all else he had to show for his impromptu freakout was a twisted ankle and a lightly fractured nose. The prison nurse had checked him over, palmed him some pills, and sent him on his way, cautioning him to stay off his ankle as much as possible. Alex was only half surprised he wasn't offered a lollipop for being "such a trooper", but then again, he probably would have if they'd had any.

He'd thought the afterlife would be a little less mundane and full of annoying injuries. Then again, perhaps that was part of the punishment.

Alex didn't doubt for a second that's why he was here, locked up with the other murderers. Tears bit at his eyes, but instead of crying, he rolled himself up into a ball and stubbornly refused to look around his cell or acknowledge it in any way. His list of sins had grown long since Ian had died. Alex's own passing should have been comforting in a way; rather than waiting for an abrupt, untimely end after a series of painful and horrifying missions, it was just supposed to be over. No more worrying about his grades or his lack of a future without MI6's blessing. No more crushing responsibility, no more feeling like he had to save everyone. Ultimate freedom.

He groaned and pressed his palms into his eye sockets. The mere existence of an afterlife was an unpleasant surprise. Ian hadn't been a religious man, had no desire to imprint that on Alex either, so Alex had been raised to expect nothing out of death except some kind of half-hearted service and a gravestone. His brain function would simply end, his heart would stop, and he would die. None of this final-judgement-of-you-as-a-person bullshit.

When had it happened? Alex scoured his memory, hoping for a definitive sign of his death. The van ride over was probably out- no sudden stops or jerks, nothing to suggest a traffic accident. Before that, he'd been in the psychiatric ward of whatever military facility MI6 had found suitable for those three weeks of detox. He'd been too miserable to get his wits about him and hadn't bothered learning too much more about the place. Was that when?

Alex had heard of people dying during the process, but that was after years of serious abuse when their bodies couldn't handle the strain, right? Besides, he'd been surrounded by medical professionals. He'd only been using for two months, and even then it was only as needed to push away the ever present prickle at the back of neck that someone or something was about to strike out at him right now-

Alex sighed, releasing the thought in an attempt to enjoy the mild suppression of said fear by whatever they'd given him at the infirmary. No, he hadn't died detoxing.

There had been that moment when he'd thought Mrs. Jones might be the devil as she stood wreathed in flames. Was that his subconscious trying to alert him to the fact that he'd passed into the next life? That his punishment had begun?

No. If he had to guess it went further back than that. Back before the psychiatric facility, before he'd shot that agent at the party, before he'd hurt Tom, before he'd broken out of St. Dominic's, before he'd been expelled from the academy in an abrupt failure of a mission he could barely recall the details of without wanting to curl up in a ball of shame.

Alex took a deep breath and forced himself to look at it clinically. If the focus of his afterlife was to make him suffer (the only defining feature of the experience thus far) then tracking his suffering over time should provide some leads. The most miserable part of the last few months hadn't been the constant fear, the hallucinations, or even the immediate mission following Jack's death. No. Those had been awful, but not in a stomach twisting, taint-everything-else-that-was-good kind of way.

The worst part was the spiraling feeling of powerlessness, the hurtling sensation that reminded Alex that he wasn't making decisions so much as responding blindly to the chaos enveloping him. Knowing that the world had descended into a madness that made sense to everyone else, but which Alex could not begin to interpret. His growing realization that his self-awareness and self-control had snapped like a fragile silk thread somewhere along the line and he hadn't noticed until it was too late.

He'd lost his mind, no matter how much he wished it wasn't so.

The roots of that thought began before he'd shot Julius in Egypt, but had grown fangs and almost quadrupled in magnitude since. That had to mean something. The timing was too perfect. He must have died sometime after that, perhaps even at the party where Tom had tried to intervene in the cataclysmic death spiral Alex's life had descended into. Too little, too late.

Not that Alex blamed him. He hadn't known what to do either. How could he explain to his friend how the same boy who'd dropped a floating drug factory beside a police station to rid their school of local dealers had transformed into a customer? Alex's own understanding of it was too cracked and fractured to convey. He'd lacked the vocabulary, or maybe some functioning part of him had been too ashamed, to try.

Unbidden, a memory crept in, months old and carefully avoided. Of trying to explain to Jack about Ash and everything that had happened with Yu's Snakehead. She hadn't taken the details well, especially not the organ harvesting camp. Before her tears could flow in earnest, he'd immediately defaulted to what he always did: minimizing and sanitizing the scary parts of his missions in the retelling. Made it sound like he hadn't been convinced he was about to die horribly, that everything had been under control. She hadn't stopped crying, but at least he hadn't made it worse. Sometime that night, lying in the dark, Alex had felt a wave of sorrow wash over him. He'd never really be able to tell anyone the whole story. He'd die drowning alone in his own panic and pain, he just knew it as a fact. Still did. He didn't remember what possessed him to creep into the bathroom and pluck open the medicine cabinet, to upend the entire bottle of Jack's sleeping pills into his open hand (she got them because of me because she was so scared and sad all the time I just know even if she wouldn't say it), to stare at them in the warm artificial light, to hold them in a clenched fist against his mouth and to just know that he could take them if he needed-

But he hadn't. Holding them had been enough to soothe the stinging ache inside him. After a few minutes, he'd tipped them back into their bottle, carefully positioned them in the cabinet, and went back to bed. Night after night, for the next four months until he'd been sent to Cairo, he'd stood there with his fist clenched and chosen to keep living.

It wasn't that. It couldn't be that.

Maybe it didn't matter when he'd died. That answer probably wouldn't help much because when he'd seen the dead assassin lounging in the sun, enough variables had come together to satisfy him. The conclusion was inevitable: Alex was finally dead but there was still hell to pay.

The price of his sins was another matter. He'd killed Julius and hurt Tom, had poisoned his brain and surrendered his self-control; laying them all at the altar of temporary relief. The payout had been small at the time, but the costs would inevitably be far worse. For killing Julius- for feeling that sweeping numbness and that tiny, guilty bubble of joy and safety when he'd pulled the trigger- Alex was to take his place in prison. For destroying his body, the cost was clearly his mind. For betraying his friend, Alex was here all alone.

What else could it be? It was too perfect. Too horrible. It made sense.

He had died after becoming a terrible person and wound up here before he'd had much of a chance to end up somewhere better. There was nothing he could do about it now.

Alex scrubbed at his eyes, suddenly feeling much calmer. The fear was still there and the sorrow still felt like a thousand glass moths with jagged, fluttering wings scraping at the inside of his chest, but now there was calm there too. At least he understood. He knew where he was and what was happening to him. It didn't make it better, but it made it a little less overwhelming. Something he could cope with.

And if he could cope, maybe he would be okay again.

Forcing himself to his feet through the creeping lethargy that seized his limbs, Alex staggered over to the desk and rifled through his box, trying to ignore the flares of pain erupting across his body. It only held a few things, mostly what had been on him at the time of his involuntary commitment to St. Dominic's. His trainers, his sunglasses, his thin white headphones entwined around his iPod….

Alex held that last object in his hand with an almost disbelieving smile. How had this managed to wind up here? It had been provided for him weeks ago to infiltrate Rosethorne Academy. While he generally got to keep the odd gift or two from Smithers, he was surprised that any of his belongings had passed prison inspection. Weren't the shoelaces alone a suicide risk, his sunglasses a potential shiv? He supposed the warden had made a point of telling him how comfortable he'd be, so perhaps they'd simply not looked too closely at these little concessions. Of course, Smithers was quite used to his gadgets coming under close scrutiny and had probably factored that into the iPod's design.

Pressing his thumb against the round trackpad, he stared in amazement as it scanned his fingerprint and opened up the secret menu. Anyone else would only see the thousands of songs Smithers had cheerfully preloaded according to his own tastes, but Alex saw four distinct icons fill the small screen instead.

Bug sweeper. Thermal imaging. Long-range audio surveillance. Music.

Smile warming him from the inside out, Alex wrapped both hands around the iPod like a talisman. A little piece of Smithers had come along to keep him company.

O

Seated at the furthest table, Yassen watched Alex as he wandered through the sliding glass doors and into the library the following day. Forgoing his Japanese phrasebook in favor of the latest edition of a celebrity magazine, Yassen half focused on his task of picking out the newest prominent socialites, familiarizing himself with their work, and trying to speculate on the professional relationships behind the scenes. Just as the Countess had taught him all those years ago, it was often shocking how close you could get to someone if you showed an in-depth knowledge of their circles. As an exercise, it was one of the more innocuous ways to keep his skills sharp without attracting attention. He absently circled another picture with a pen. No one bothered complaining about his marks anymore.

Occasionally, he'd flick his eyes up to track Alex's progress along the shelves.

The boy's clothes must have arrived, or at least whichever clothes the prison deemed fit to provide, which in Alex's case seemed to be jeans and a loose red jumper. Or perhaps it wasn't that the garment was loose so much as that Alex was obviously underweight. His dark blonde hair curled loosely around his ears and down his neck, long untrimmed. The boy limped slightly as he trailed one finger along the spines of the book, though the absence of a cast suggested that his injury was unserious. Apart from the black eye, swollen nose, and other assorted bruises peppering his visible skin, he seemed fine. What worried Yassen the most was the vacant, almost woebegone expression etched across the thin, familiar face.

It was like watching a sleepwalker.

As though drawn by a magnet, Alex's dawdling path eventually brought him towards Yassen's table, passing several others along the way. Sluggish brown eyes slid over one of the two intelligence agents, a redheaded man in his early forties whom everyone called Dart, with little interest.

Such a lack of attention was not returned. The man opened his mouth, but after a sharp glance from Carlos at the circulation desk, shut it and settled for watching the boy instead. That was probably wise, if Alex's response to being mistaken for Julius yesterday was to be repeated.

Yassen circled another director's bio and frowned to himself. It couldn't be a coincidence that Alex was here, of all places. It wouldn't be the first time MI6 had faked a prison sentence for a deep cover agent. Of course, MI6 wouldn't be foolish enough to use the same lie for both father and son.

He snorted quietly to himself. It was better not to underestimate the incompetence of any one agency. Greater oversights had been made before.

Vacant eyes widening in recognition as he took in Yassen, pale skin juxtaposed against the bright green of the lawn. The boy's harsh exhale and sudden understanding. "Am I dead too now?"

Yassen winced. It was almost impossible to fake complete mental disorientation, not like that. He'd seen many try for the sake of infiltration, but the signs were always there: doubt always trickled through. Humans were too attached to reality to forsake it entirely.

Even if the boy's condition turned out to be genuine, his placement was far too convenient. Surely there were dozens of mental hospitals to treat a broken spy, facilities where a false name would be more than adequate to keep him out of the spotlight. And yet he was here. It reminded Yassen of Casablanca, "of all the gin joints in all the world…"

Some kind of trap was possible. Likely. He'd refused to yield any information during interrogation. Weeks of silence, of agony, and suddenly he found himself here. MI6, however, would not admit defeat, hence why he was still alive and warehoused in Gibraltar until he was willing to be of some use to them. Even that was unlikely. Yassen wasn't afraid of pain or torture. He had no personal connections to exploit; no family, no friends, or even treasured ideals he believed in enough to be of any value.

Then again, he'd been shot by Cray for refusing to kill Alex, so it wasn't exactly a stretch to think him a proven weakness.

Yassen snorted quietly. As if he would tell the teenager a single thing, even if he were a little bit attached to the memory of an old friend.

If Alex's incarceration wasn't aimed at compromising Yassen, that meant there had to be another reason Alex was here. He doubted the boy had committed any serious crimes to warrant his stay, despite the warden's implication that he'd killed an agent. Inadvertently, perhaps. Alex was far from a killer. Trauma or mental breakdown as the warden had suggested, of course, wasn't entirely out of the question: Alex likely overestimated his own fortitude by remaining a spy. If so, MI6 needed to warehouse their little public-scandal-in-the-making indefinitely. Apart from a premature death, a result like this was nearly inevitable. It had been one of the main reasons Yassen had tried to dissuade him from spying, not that the little idiot had listened.

Said little idiot had reached his table, staring down at Yassen's choice of reading material in surprise. "I never pegged you for a celebrity gossip type."

He didn't so much as bat an eye. "What do you want?"

The boy pulled out a chair and sat. "I don't know. What are we supposed to?"

"It's prison," Yassen said flatly. "You can fill your time with whatever you are permitted."

"Oh." Alex's hand crept to his mouth, where he nibbled on a hangnail. Expression cloudy, his knee began bouncing up and down beneath the table.

Yassen went back to his magazine, staring blindly at the page instead of the boy beside him. While part of him absolutely burned with wanting to demand answers from Alex, a much larger part wanted to make a point out of the fact that he was not eager to engage with him. After all, there were always observers. Not a single conversation would go unrecorded, especially inside any of the buildings. He briefly wished he had a chance to explain that particular detail to Alex, but with another glance at his hazy eyes, decided that might be a waste of time.

He'd just have to steer the boy away from discussing anything compromising or better yet, avoid speaking to him at all.

The silence lasted for all of five minutes.

"Do you remember it happening?" Alex asked him, staring out the window across from them at the metal picnic bench perched beneath an olive tree. Given the risk of falling olives, it was rarely used unless any of the inmates wanted marginal solitude. Swiveling back to the table in front of them, Alex winced, his entire body tensing suddenly. Tilting in his chair, he checked underneath the surface as though looking for something other than their legs, before he drew his feet onto his chair beneath him. He grimaced, likely pained by whatever injury caused his limp. "I can't remember it happening, but I think it's because I was high. Probably. Or is that how it always is? Do you remember yours?"

Yassen swept his magazine shut. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that there was no avoiding this conversation. Even if he diligently avoided the teen, eventually Alex would get comfortable and corner him somewhere with questions. It wasn't as though Yassen could threaten him or otherwise dissuade contact without ending up in the punishment block. Short of snapping the boy's neck before anyone could stop him, he was out of options. "Remember what happening?"

"Dying," Alex said, shifting in his chair and staring down at the purple commercial carpeting apprehensively. Grasping the back of his chair awkwardly, Alex kneeled on the seat as his eyes flicking to the table consideringly before sparing another glance for Yassen. "I don't know when it happened. Can't remember. You remember yours, right?"

Yassen watched Alex stare back down at the carpet again with growing unease. Either Alex was a superb actor or…

"No, I don't, because neither of us is dead. You know that, don't you, Alex?" he asked, slowly.

Abruptly, Alex scowled at him. "You don't have to treat me like a kid. Don't lie to me because you don't think I can handle the truth."

"When have I ever lied to you?"

Alex's face creased, evidently unable to come up with an example, though he shook his head forcefully a split second later. Glancing yet again at the floor, his kneeling position on his chair became a crouch. He wobbled, nearly falling off his perch. "You admitted it before."

Yassen glanced around. Alex's increasingly odd behavior hadn't gone unnoticed. Dart wasn't even pretending to read his crime thriller anymore. At the circulation desk, Carlos plucked the small operations phone from its cradle and spoke urgently into it with a low voice. Guards were likely already on their way.

"When?"

"When you said that I looked well for a dead boy." Face pale, Alex stared down at the completely empty floor with something like panic. He crawled onto the small table, forcing Yassen to grab the magazine to avoid having it tear beneath his trainers.

"I thought you were Julius Grief." Yassen pushed his chair backwards to add some extra space between them. Not that he was so ignorant as to think madness were contagious, but he had no intention of being involved when the guards arrived. "I assure you, neither of us are dead."

"Liar," Alex spat, glaring at him from his kneeling position on the table. "I saw you die myself. If you're here, then I'm dead too. It's not rocket science."

Yassen stood slowly. Alex was clearly committed to this bizarre fixation on the afterlife. How far gone was he? How long had he been like this? Angling out of Dart's line of sight, Yassen yanked the up the hem of his sweater just enough to expose the pink scarring that drew an x across his rib cage, a silent testimony of the two emergency surgeries required to revive him. He let the fabric drop. "I didn't die. You passed out."

"That's not true! Mrs. Jones said you died," Alex snarled.

"And she always tells you the truth?"

Pushing off his knees, Alex stood upright on the small table. Staring down at the floor with naked terror, his eyes then swept back to Yassen as he towered over him, torn between the two. He raised one foot off the table and swallowed. "We're dead. I figured it out," he said, voice shrinking.

Two guards appeared in front of the entrance. The glass doors swished apart to allow them inside, both clearly focused on Alex. One of them pulled a small syringe out of a pouch clipped to his belt.

Maintaining the distance between them, Yassen abandoned his attempts to persuade Alex of his status among the living, watching as the two guards approached the circulation desk to confer with Carlos. "What are you looking at?" he asked, half hoping Alex was too deep in his distress to answer.

"I don't-" Alex drew in a ragged breath and shook his head. "I can't let it eat my legs."

Yassen fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Instead, he tucked his magazine under his arm and began scoping out a different table. Let the guards deal with the child.

Some part of Alex must have been connected to reality, because he sought to clarify. "Not the floor, the crusher. It breaks down sugar cane and-" Alex flinched with his whole body, lifting one of his feet off the table and screwing his eyes shut. A split second later, he flinched a second time and opened his eyes, zeroing in on a nearby stack of bookshelves. His thoughts were obvious. It would be a far jump, and if avoiding the floor was a priority, it was just as likely he'd miss.

Yassen sighed. This stupid family.

The guards hushed debate raged on over at the circulation desk. They probably had orders to sedate Alex if he showed any signs of violence. While he was clearly having some kind of episode, standing on a table and shouting about phantom crushers likely hadn't quite fallen under a clear course of action. Yassen doubted they'd been trained in any capacity for psychological distress; while most of the guards tended to be relaxed with the prisoners, Yassen had only ever seen them respond to problems with physical force.

"Where is it?" Yassen snapped, fighting the urge to walk away. MI6 plant or not, Alex's distress seemed sincere. Not for the first time, he felt the scar on his neck tingle and wished John Rider had slightly worse aim. He gestured to the section of floor where Alex had been sitting, in case Alex was watching through his shut eyelids. "I can't see it."

"I know that." Alex's lips thinned, but he didn't open his eyes right away. "Right beneath me. It's always right beneath me."

"Even though you moved several times." Yassen watched Alex's entire body curl in on itself. "So you acknowledge that it isn't there."

"Yes," Alex said, eyes popping open only to be glued to the floor. He wrapped his shaking arms around his legs, as though to block the imagined onslaught. "I know it sounds crazy, but I'm not crazy. I know it's not there, except that it still is. I can feel it coming, I can feel the air moving around the grindstones-"

Yassen folded his arms. "Ignore it. Get off the table and sit in your chair."

"What an amazing idea! How did I not think of that before?" He jerked his hands in sarcastic surprise, eyes widening for effect. Crazy or not, the boy had clearly retained his smart-ass tendencies. "I tried! Don't you think I've already tried that?"

Grimacing, Yassen shifted on his feet and made eye contact with one of the guards. The man shrugged with stiff shoulders, eyes still on Alex. No verdict yet, then. If Yassen walked away, would that force the guard to intervene and free him of his pseudo-responsibility? "What will convince you?" he asked, circling the table to make a point of the empty floor.

Alex let out a harsh laugh, staring at the floor. "Nothing. Nothing works."

"Are you on any medication for it?" he asked, already suspecting the answer.

"So, so many medications." This time Alex actually threw his head back, laughs wracking his chest. It was jarring. The sound died abruptly, as he leapt slightly on the surface of the table, as though something had taken a swipe at him. "Sometimes I can get high enough to not care, though. Does the infirmary have anything worth-?"

Yassen felt his lips thin and cut him off. "I doubt that solves much of anything."

"You've clearly never tried heroin."

Yassen actually paused mid-step to stare at the boy hunched atop the library furniture, still shaking. It was a small miracle the cheap compressed wood beneath the plastic coating hadn't given out, held together by some kind of glue. (Yassen had checked it for loose screws when he'd first arrived, anything he might have used as a weapon. No luck.) Then again, Alex didn't seem to have grown much in the last year, despite his age. Heavy drug use could possibly explain why. "I doubt you'll be able to get your hands on that here. Figure something else out."

Both guards approached at the same time, hands near their belts. The younger one, probably in his mid-twenties, nodded to Alex with a lopsided smile, visibly uncomfortable. He rocked gently on his feet. "You need to get down from there, mate. Nurse says you're not supposed to agitate your ankle. Don't you think you'll be more comfortable in your seat, mate?"

"I know, it really hurts standing like this." Scowling, Alex shook his head and twisted to look back down at them. "I can't get down. It's still there. I know you can't see it too-"

"Rider, you've got until the count of three," the older guard said, showing him the syringe he held loosely. The pale yellow liquid gleamed in the artificial light.

Seeing this, Yassen gave himself another few feet of distance. He'd made an effort; John could stop rolling in his grave. There was no point in earning himself a cell in the punishment block if there was nothing more he could do for Alex anyway.

"One-"

Alex's face tightened as he glanced down at the floor.

"Two-"

"I can't. I've already tried!"

"Three."

Alex leapt, taking his chances with the bookshelf. For a last ditch effort, he managed to get an impressive amount of momentum. He sailed through the air, landing with his feet planted firmly on one of the middle shelves, clinging to the sides with shaking arms and groaning as his stomach impacted the reinforced center.

Unfortunately, the stack wasn't bolted down particularly well. With a screech of twisting metal, it toppled forward, carrying Alex with it to half slam into a nearby shelf before falling to the side. The whole mess slammed against the floor. Books tumbled to the carpet.

Swearing, the guards rushed forward as Carlos snatched up the phone again and began calling codes. An alarm began to blare. They stooped to his level and managed to hook the boy's arms.

"Don't!" Nearly twisting to his feet, Alex lashed out at the younger guard clutching his right arm, pulling it from his grasp and rearing back in the split second opening he'd created. His hit was good, catching the man underneath the chin. Unfortunately, the awkward upward angle of his strike was made much more difficult from his position on the half fallen bookshelf.

The other guard dragged him back as he lunged, both of them hitting the carpet hard. The younger guard rushed forward and clamped his arms around the boy a second time, half tackling him against the mess of books.

Spotting his only opening, the older guard stabbed Alex in the neck while Alex struggled to climb up off the floor.

Panting hard, the younger guard relaxed his grip, clearly expecting the drug to work immediately. Alex struck with his elbow, struggling to wrench free. The guard's head slammed against the edge of a metal shelf. He groaned, dazed but conscious, as Alex rolled away from him, trying to claw his way back up onto the furniture and off the floor.

Four more guards swept into the library as Carlos hung up the phone. Such backup was quickly proven unnecessary as Alex's movements grew weaker. He slumped onto the toppled shelves, spine twisted uncomfortably.

Yassen held up his empty hands and took another step away from the entire mess. At the jerk of a guard's rifle, Yassen and Dart both filed out of the library to be escorted back to their cells.

He glanced back only once. Surrounded by the guards repositioning his hands behind his back, Alex lay with his eyes half shut, face pressed against the floor he'd been so desperately trying to escape.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well, not quite a week yet, but it occurs to me that it would be a pain to try and find time on Christmas Eve to get this up. Or not. If I find myself with copious amounts of time, I might just try and get another chapter posted anyway. Tis the season, yeah? 
> 
> As always, please let me know if you spot any errors, gaps in logic, or have any thoughts on how to improve my writing. I thrive on feedback. ^^

Nurse Scalia grimaced at his computer screen before turning back to Alex. He was a dark haired man in his late twenties with pearly, even teeth that reminded Alex oddly enough of subway tiles and a light tan. Despite the fluorescent orange sunglasses dangling from the pocket of his teal hospital scrubs, something about his posture made Alex certain he was another military man. "You're lucky didn't break that rib. As it is, I'm going to have to increase your anti-inflammatories to try and counter the new bruising. How's those pain levels?"

Draped across the exam table, Alex winced. Forming the words took a great deal more effort than they did normally. "Hurts a lot. Can't I have anything stronger?"

The older guard who'd escorted him snorted from his position by the infirmary door.

"I'm not surprised," the nurse continued. "I'm afraid there's only so many things I can give you with your current medications. There's, well… there's a lot of contraindications for what you're currently on. Hopefully we can try and get you off of some those medications in the next few weeks."

"I'll risk it," Alex snapped. "Just give me something for the pain."

The nurse ignored him, likely thoroughly briefed on Alex's history by MI6. "Are you still having hallucinations?"

"He was having one in the library," the guard informed him.

Scalia smiled patiently, turning to look pointedly at Alex. "I meant right now."

"No," Alex said, struggling to keep his eyes open. He let them drift shut. His ribs were on fire, but at least he hadn't damaged them more when he'd flung himself against the shelf. By some miracle, his ankle wasn't any worse than before either. The younger guard, though; Alex suspected he'd at least given him a concussion. The sound of his head hitting the library table rippled through his memory and Alex winced. Even though the man had been a prick, he still felt bad about it. The guard couldn't see the crusher and most people panicked in response to his behavior. As much as he just wanted to be left alone, he understood that it was the guards' jobs not to. "It's passed."

Scalia nodded and tapped something into his computer. "Great. I'd hate to add more lorazepam on top of the tranquilizer we used on you earlier today. Probably put you straight to sleep. As it stands now, I'm going to give you something to manage the pain. Non-opiate. Now, can you remember to take your regular medications yourself or will we need to dispense them for you like we did this morning?"

Alex shook his head, grateful to have the option. "I'll take them myself."

After he'd been hauled off to the infirmary yesterday after seeing Yassen for the first time and given more sedatives, he'd fallen asleep and woken up in his cell around midnight, groggy and sore. He woke around noon to find another plate of food and a guard waiting outside his cell to escort him to the infirmary and ensure he took his medicine like a good boy. So far, apart from the tour he'd been given, Alex had seen his cell and the infirmary the most. The longer he could stay away from this stupid place, the better.

Scalia stood and offered Alex a hand, helping him ease his way upright on the exam table. "Okay, we'll try that then. If you forget or skip doses on purpose, though, we'll have to make you come here every morning and night to take them under observation. Deal?"

"Deal." Groaning, Alex drew in a shuddering breath and accepted the pills Scalia shook out of an orange container, swallowing without even looking at them. Probably not the best habit to have developed, though Alex was beyond the cute idea that he could stop the staff from sedating him if they really wanted to. He'd learned that the hard way at the last facility.

Keeping his body language subdued, Alex took a quick inventory of the room. Apart from the exam table, a handful of chairs, and the basic medical equipment mounted to the bone white walls, the only other noteworthy features about the room were the counters and cabinets lining either side of Scalia's workstation. This was a small infirmary. A small prison, from what he'd seen. What were the odds they'd leave any medications of interest in them during normal hours?

Alex caught the eye of the guard by the door. Maybe it was worth a look later.

"Alright, we'll get you out of here soon. The warden wants a quick word with you first." Scalia nodded to the guard, who immediately abandoned his post at the entrance and disappeared down the long hallway of the administrative building. The infirmary was on the first floor, separated by a reinforced door from the rest of the work areas.

Alex sighed. This was going to be a fun conversation.

Not a minute later, the warden strode into the room. Holding the door open in a silent order, he watched as Scalia gathered his treatment notes from his workstation and shuffled out. Through the cracked door, Alex saw the guard take up post again as the warden leaned against the supply counter, arms folded.

Alex regarded him with hazy eyes. How long would this take? Couldn't his punishment wait until later, preferably after a nice long nap? He yawned and slumped in his seat, hanging his head.

"Is there anything you'd like to say about the incident in the library?" the other man asked, after a long silence had stretched between them.

Internally, Alex cringed. The man didn't seem angry necessarily, but he definitely didn't sound happy either. Not that he could blame him, having dished out a medley of injuries to both himself and at least a dozen of the warden's employees in less than 48 hours of his arrival. And possibly destroyed a portion of the library furniture. And some books.

Alex looked down at his feet. "Sorry, sir. I-" he began, before realizing there wasn't much he could say that the warden didn't already know. "Sorry. Was anyone seriously hurt?"

The other man sighed. "You gave Saunders a concussion, but he'll be fine in a few days. It seems that the most injured person from this encounter was you."

"Okay." Nibbling on his nails, Alex shrugged and kept his eyes on his knees. If he wasn't half-sleepwalking from his medications, he'd probably have dealt far more damage to the two guards. At the very least, he'd have the energy to practice his karate forms once in a while. How long had it been since he'd bothered? At least a few months. It was probably a good thing he couldn't, given the options.

"This can't continue," the warden informed him, eyes hard. "I understand that there are factors outside of your control, but I cannot have this level of disorder. The number of interrupted shifts and paperwork alone…"

Alex looked up, smiling a little uncertainly. It hadn't quite sounded like a joke, but the warden's voice had undoubtedly carried a small touch of amusement.

"Do you remember what I told you about our punishment block, Alex?"

He dropped his eyes again. "Yes, sir. Isolation cells."

Alex could feel the warden's eyes rake over him. "Something tells me that placing you there won't alter your behavior at all."

"No, sir." Alex clenched his fists and looked up. "If I could act normal, I would. I wasn't trying to create a problem, I just wanted to get away from the crush- I mean- from the hallucination. I'm sorry I climbed on the table, but if they hadn't tried to grab me, I wouldn't have risked the shelf-" Alex paused and took a deep breath.

He was so sick of trying to explain it, this constant broil of panic and impending danger, unanchored to anything. The constant war between what he knew intellectually and knew physically. "I know that I have hallucinations and I know that they aren't real, but they still feel real. Really, really real. Sometimes I can ignore them but most times I can't. I'm sorry for causing trouble."

"The way I see it, Alex," the warden said, staring thoughtfully at the floor. "Is that I have two available options. Either I can pump you to the gills with tranquilizers and deal with a zombie or I can lock you away in isolation. Even if it doesn't help your behavior or further your treatment, it will at least protect everyone else within these walls. Do you understand?"

Alex picked at the paper lining of the exam table.

The warden pushed himself away from the counter. "Tonight you're going to spend in the punishment block. Normally, the minimum punishment is two days, but I'm willing to be lenient given the last minute nature of your arrival. This leniency will not happen again, do you understand?"

Alex let out a soft exhale and nodded.

"Good," the warden said, pushing open the door. He turned back to face Alex, lips twisted in a wry smile. Alex had to look away from the distant pity he saw there. "One of these days you're going to manage to eat a meal in the dining hall with everyone else. I'd recommend it, anyway. The chef's paella is always better warm."

Alex shifted. "Sir?"

The warden paused in the doorway.

"Can I bring my iPod with me? It helps me fall asleep."

"It's hardly a punishment if you can self-entertain," the warden told him, then gave him a half nod. "But I'll allow it this time. Try to behave, Alex."

O

Yassen placed the kettlebell on the rack and grabbed an anti-bacterial wipe from the dispenser, cleaning the workout bench he'd used with quick efficient movements. Beyond it being a rule, it never hurt to be polite. Tossing it into the trash a second later, the Russian popped his back and looked into the tall mirrors lining the gym with a grimace. Maybe he was imagining things, but ever since he'd recovered from his wounds on Air Force One, he'd started feeling his age. Little aches and pains, twinges, that sort of thing. He even slept for four hours and fifteen minutes now.

Scrubbing at his neck with his towel, Yassen scowled. He was getting old.

There was no point in dwelling, as there was nothing could stop the march of time. A hot shower in his cell would help him feel better, so Yassen grabbed his water bottle and left, noting the time irritably. Breakfast started at eight and he preferred to be one of the first to arrive. Unfortunately, the prison didn't allow access to the gym before six, meaning that Yassen had to compromise: either shave twenty minutes off of his preferred two hour workout to shower in time or arrive late and deal with the more chatty prisoners.

Following the winding path back to the accommodations block, Yassen spotted a familiar blonde head leaving the punishment block. Alex kept his head down, earbuds trailing from his ears as he ambled after a guard towards the dining hall.

Yassen halted, evaluating.

On the one hand, seeking the teen out might confirm MI6's suspicions that he'd make good leverage. On the other, if Alex started chatting freely with the other inmates, Yassen's precarious position would get even worse. The only reason he was likely still alive was his anonymity, preventing anyone within the prison system or any deep Scorpia informants from knowing where to target him. Hell, there was even a decent chance that at some point Yassen or Scorpia had interfered with the plans or interests of his fellow inmates. Revenge was never out of the question. All it would take was one slip of the tongue, one errant use of his actual name, for Alex to put Yassen at risk of assassination.

It was a small miracle that Alex had gone so long without using it already.

Approaching Alex would have to be handled carefully. If it was possible to keep the boy from understanding Yassen's peril, it would be the far safer option, even if Alex figured it out down the road. Yassen had no interest in retribution over Cray, but those feelings were likely not reciprocated. A fervent promise of future revenge for an uncle's untimely death stood out in his mind, over a year ago atop a skyscraper. It wasn't the sort of thing one forgot. Even so, Yassen had to consider that Alex was fourteen and naive when he'd made that promise. He'd failed to kill Yassen when he'd had a gun to his head and the element of surprise.

However, much had changed since then. If Alex realized how easy it would be to get Yassen killed without having to dirty his hands himself….

Still. It was a risk Yassen had to take.

He strode across the dew-slick grass to intercept the two. "Alex," he called.

The guard stiffened, but otherwise did nothing as the boy ground to a halt. Being alone with two inmates might have been nerve wracking in any other prison, but it wasn't worth fussing over here. Not only were they observed on all sides by state of the art cameras, thermal imaging, and movement sensors, but they were well within shooting range of the riflemen patrolling the perimeter of the fence. There was little to fear. It wasn't as though prisoners were forbidden from speaking to each other.

Alex glanced up, tugging one earbud free as he turned to face Yassen.

"Be careful about what you say," Yassen ordered without preamble. He flicked a glance at the guard, but didn't bother with trying to speak in code or disguise his intent. It wasn't exactly a threat anyway. More like a warning. Even if he did bother with a code, Alex might not be able to decipher anything but direct statements and it wasn't as though the prison staff had no suspicions about why so little information on prisoner six was available in the first place.

Alex furrowed his brow, chewing his lower lip. "Are we not supposed to talk so openly about being dead? Is that why you said that stuff yesterday?"

There it was. The perfect way to avoid finding out how badly the boy wanted him dead.

"Sure," Yassen said. He had plenty of time to worry about that particular delusion later, once he'd determined the full extent of the risk Alex posed to him first. "There are other things you must not discuss at all. Most important of which is my name."

"Why?" Alex pulled out his other earbud.

The guard was definitely paying attention now. Yassen itched to snap his neck, to end the potential threat. He sighed. It couldn't be helped.

"It's important that I remain anonymous." Yassen held Alex's gaze, moderately confident that Alex was lucid enough to understand what was being asked, if not the real reason why. Now if only he could trust him to obey. "Don't use my name and don't speak of our shared history."

Alex bit his lip, glancing furtively at the guard. "But what am I supposed to say if anyone asks me? It's obvious that we know each other already. And what if I have questions for you?" He folded his arms, glancing around the dark grass and flower beds in the early morning light. "In any case, I'll probably forget and slip up. I haven't had my medication yet today, but it's harder to remember things when I'm fresh on it."

Fighting another sigh, Yassen gripped the towel slung around his neck tighter. The situation was certainly far less than ideal, not that it was either of their faults. "Don't answer questions unless you have to. If you absolutely must ask me something, keep the details vague and I'll do the same."

Alex nodded. "What about your name?"

"I'm prisoner six. That's all anyone needs to identify me here."

"I'll forget that," Alex told him without hesitation, making a face. "That's not even a name, much less one I'd associate with you."

"Then pick something else," Yassen said, pinching the bridge of his nose. As much as he appreciated the boy's honesty, they were rapidly approaching a level of compromise that bordered on no deal. Yassen might as well tattoo his own name on his forehead and see what happened.

The thought evolved abruptly. "Call me Yasha instead of my real name. Can you remember that?"

Yasha Gregorovich didn't exist in any Russian records, not since the purge of Estrov. He doubted even MI6 knew his real name, given how determined John had been to keep Yassen out of the spotlight and how unimportant he'd been at the time. 'Yasha' was as common a name in Russia as 'Matt' or 'David' were in Britain. It's resemblance to 'Yassen' was only passing, much like the name 'Cathrine' was to 'Caroline'. So long as the boy wasn't stupid enough to use his surname, the similarity should be strong enough for Alex to remember without being obvious enough to anyone hearing it out of context.

"Yasha?" the boy said, almost as though he were tasting it for the first time. It was uncommon in the UK, so there was a decent chance that he was. Yassen had to suppress a weird twitch, hearing his name used for the first time in years. The boy nodded. "Okay. I think I can remember."

"Good." Yassen moved towards the accommodations block, intent on having the swiftest shower possible. Tried not to picture Alex alone at breakfast, facing five bored inmates' collective curiosity. He was tempted to accompany the boy immediately to enforce his new rule, but if he skipped his usual shower it would be obvious that something was up. The terrorists alone were terrible gossips.

"Can I ask you a question? Really quick," Alex promised, eyes darting nervously towards the dining hall.

Yassen paused, half turning to face him. "What is it?"

Alex chewed on his lower lip, studying Yassen's face anxiously as he put obvious care into each word. "Julia and Winston aren't here too, are they? I took your advice, but they were really mad at me when they… left..."

Yassen froze, almost too startled to respond. "No," he said, at last, struggling to ignore the sudden flood of questions in his own head. "You won't run into them here."

Alex relaxed, giving Yassen a quick smile as the guard waved a hand in the direction of the dining hall to get him moving again. He twisted mid-step to look back at the assassin. "Oh, good. I was worried breakfast might be a bit awkward."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks so much for all your comments and reviews! This stuff is immensely helpful to me, even if it's just a quick comment about what stuff you really like.

Alex understood almost immediately why Yassen pulled him aside. Less than a minute had passed since the guard ushered him towards the breakfast offerings laid out buffet style on a canteen counter dividing the dining area from the kitchen and left. Alex had scarcely heaped food onto his tray and sat at the only unoccupied table of the two before another tray thunked onto the table beside him, followed by the inmate who'd abruptly decided to switch tables.

With a small jolt, Alex recognized the man from the library yesterday. Vaguely. Another man, in his late fifties with salt and pepper hair, also decided to join them at their table, walking all the way around the length of the table to sit across from him.

Swallowing his nervousness, Alex became acutely aware of the tamper-proofed cameras mounted openly in every corner, as well as the relaxed but watchful gazes of the kitchen staff as they continued setting out trays of granola.

"Hello," he said, suddenly wishing he'd left his earbuds in, the universal sign for 'please fuck off and don't speak to me'. Besides, he was curious to see if this building had as many bugs and wires as the punishment block. Even if he couldn't leave, it would be pretty fun to try and determine the level of surveillance the prison had.

He was already getting bored.

"Alex, right?" The red-headed man waved his hand in a circling motion at Alex's nod. Alex thought he might detect a trace of a Brooklyn accent around his short vowels, but he might have been mishearing it. "Nice to meet you. Call me Dart. This is Hamad. Not that it's great to be here, but it's always nice to see a familiar face. Or a new one- well-" He froze. Mouth shutting, his eyes narrowed as he studied Alex with a ferocity akin to a bomb expert waiting for an explosion.

Clearly someone remembered his freakout from the library.

Suppressing a sigh, Alex ripped off a piece of croissant and popped it in his mouth. "Or not so new one, in my case?"

Dart grinned, a touch relieved. "That's right. What a crazy coincidence, am I right?"

"Crazy, yeah," Alex agreed, easily recognizing the probe. He was a spy after all.

Deciding to ignore it, he took another bite of croissant and let the silence unfold. So far, his day was going alright: he'd only had moderate nightmares, had surprisingly tasty food in front of him now, and had yet to have his energy sapped and his reflexes dulled by his medication. He had no intention of spoiling his morning by chatting about Julius Grief.

Hamad decided to throw his hat into the ring. "Maybe it is luck instead. After all, it seems you already know someone here. Who was it again?"

Alex couldn't quite resist the urge to play along. Let them think they'd scored some points in whatever game they and Yassen were playing. "Oh, you mean Yasha?"

Dart managed to school his expression of shock into mild interest, but Hamad's eyes widened before darting to his companion's. Alex swallowed a laugh. Clearly this had been a fixation of theirs for quite some time.

The redheaded man nodded at Alex, "That's right."

"I think it's very lucky," Alex responded, with just the right amount of earnestness for his age. Let them see what they expected to see. Both men seemed nice enough, but Alex had no illusions: if he and Yassen had both ended up here, these men had to have done things at least as bad. "I was pretty nervous, but now I'm feeling a little better about being here. I didn't think everyone would be so friendly, but I guess this isn't a normal prison, is it?"

Dart leaned forward, eyes a little too casual. Alex half wondered if he was going to bring up the being dead thing or if that rule was understood by the rest of the inmates too. "No, no, it isn't. In fact, I'm pretty astounded someone your age has been sent here in the first place. It was shocking enough the first time, but twice? What did you do, if you don't mind me asking?"

Alex popped a grape into his mouth to buy himself a split second to respond, stress levels steadily growing. He sighed and stared at his lap, wishing he'd just kept his mouth shut. The talk-without-talking game had been fun until now, like back when he'd used to play it with Ian. Now it just reminded him of all the times such conversations had nearly gotten him killed. He knew he couldn't dodge direct questions forever and it was only going to get more complicated. It was a mistake to indulge them. "Are you sure we're supposed to talk about that stuff?"

Dart snorted and leaned back. "I hate to burst your bubble, kid, but we're in prison. There's not much to do except talk, so the broad strokes tend to come out whether we like it or not. It might take some getting used to."

Alex shrugged. "I've been hearing that phrase a lot lately."

Crossing his legs, Dart gave him a sympathetic smile. "I'll bet. Tell you what, I'll start: I may or may not have been an intelligence agent. Hamad may or may not have been a weapons inspector. We're pretty certain Six- I mean, Yasha- was a contract killer of some variety. Like I said, broad strokes." He smiled again and tapped the table by Alex's elbow. "Your turn."

Alex considered him, picking at his untouched toast. So they knew what Yassen had done, just not the details of who he was? It couldn't be long before information like that leaked out about Alex.

Anxiety, tight and familiar, coiled in his chest. Soon enough, they'd know he was a murderer too.

His good morning was over. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the door to the dining hall open and Yassen enter.

Dart saw him too, face flickering into something along the lines of a pout. Casual interrogation time was nearly over, it seemed. "You did something for MI6 once, right? That's why Julius got assigned your face."

Alex's fingers turned white against his fork. It seemed the broad strokes were already painted by the boy he'd been sent to replace. Hell was a funny place. "Spy."

Dart leaned forward, cradling his chin in his hands, looking only slightly less startled than Hamad. "Is that so? You look a little young to sign away your life for queen and country."

"I was fourteen and I didn't volunteer," Alex snapped, stabbing his eggs hard enough that his fork scratched across his plate. He might as well have scraped it across his own spine for all it did to rile him up.

Backing off, Dart crammed a piece of toast into his own mouth and waved vaguely with another in implied indignation. "No shit? I wish I was more surprised. Those bastards at MI6 never did have a sense of decency."

Hamad shook his head, lips pursed in politely disgusted agreement. "None at all."

Alex fought to control his breathing, reminding himself that he was in no real danger. Worse case scenario, the other prisoners knew more about him than he was comfortable with. It wasn't like he was on a mission: the only consequence would be his own frustration and embarrassment. In a cage full of killers, it was likely they wouldn't think much of him anyway.

His panic attack disagreed. Did the other prisoners know they were dead too or was that supposed to be a secret? Was that why he wasn't supposed to talk about it?

Yassen's tray made a sharp crack as he dropped into the seat next to Hamad. "Dig up any interesting gossip, Dart?" he asked, slightly amused voice not meeting his cold, clear eyes.

Dart sighed, glancing away to watch another pair of prisoners trail in through the door. "Good morning to you too, Six. Or do you prefer Yasha?"

Yassen's glare sharpened ever so slightly.

It was a good show, Alex thought. If they hadn't spoken beforehand, he might think his subtle frustration genuine.

Grateful to no longer be the center of attention, Alex grabbed his bottle of cranberry juice from his tray and swallowed. The metallic bite of snake blood erupted across his tongue. Gagging, he spat the red liquid out on his tray and covered his face with his napkin, fighting the urge to vomit.

Blood dripping from his face as he staggered forward please let them believe it please let them think I'm dead. The feeling of slick scales, damp with blood as he lifted the scooped blood to his lips, gagging and afraid-

Dart glanced one more time at Alex, now hunched over his tray and breathing fast into his napkin. Alex wasn't sure if it was Yassen's presence or Alex's obvious fit, but either way, the maybe-a-former-intelligence-agent clearly decided to beat a retreat. He stood and grabbed his tray. "Well, it was nice chatting with you, Alex. Hamad and I had better go say hello to Abed and Ahmed. Catch you around."

Yassen waited until they'd traversed the six feet of distance to the next table before asking quietly, "You alright, little Alex?"

Shutting his eyes, Alex shook his head and pressed the napkin to his lips even harder. Instead of the smooth texture of processed paper, his brain suddenly registered the slick-soft pebbling of scales. Dropped it onto his plate. His stomach rolled and he gagged again, just barely keeping down what little breakfast he'd already eaten. "Snake's blood," he ground out. Not that he expected Yassen to understand, per se, but a part of him wanted to convey the reason for his distress. It'd be crazier if he randomly responded like this to nothing, right?

Yassen raised his eyebrows, catching on a little quicker than Alex had expected. "Cray's little pet. Another hallucination?" At Alex's nod, he went on, "How often do you have those?"

"Every day." Alex blinked away the tears summoned by his coughing fit. His breathing refused to even out, though. This particular hallucination- the snake, it's dead fire-black eyes, it's poor body forced into twisted, spiked armor, the bitter taste of its blood- was fairly rare. At least it was just the taste of it's blood and not the whole memory. He spared a second to wonder if maybe all his Cray related hallucinations lately had anything to do with seeing Yassen.

"Glad to see all that medication helps," Yassen said a touch dryly, spearing a strawberry on his fork as he watched Alex.

"Haven't taken it yet," Alex reminded him. "You know, in case it makes me nauseous." Alex let out a bitter laugh which trailed into gasps as he failed to convince his lungs and racing heart that he wasn't starving for air. The metallic tang of blood still ringed his mouth.

On top of all that, he found himself watching Yassen chew his fruit with an almost detached fascination. Maybe it was oxygen deprivation. Maybe he'd actually gone insane. It was just so bizarre seeing the assassin do something as mundane as eat. Like seeing Superman blow his nose. For some reason, Alex had never quite considered the man human before now, even though he'd actually seen him bleed to death.

"Ah." Yassen watched him struggle for another few seconds. Alex was about to demand if he was enjoying the show when he asked, "Has anyone taught you combat breathing?"

Alex gave him a sour look. "Breathing's half of karate class, Yas- Yasha," he hissed, dragging in another series of breaths. Hopefully, whoever was listening in (and Alex did not doubt that the other table was diligently attempting to do so in between stalled bouts of small talk) would chalk it up to his erratic breathing. "I've tried it. Doesn't work."

The Russian shrugged. "That's more about controlling your breath in relation to dynamic movement. I'm talking about calming your nervous system. Similar, but not the same."

Shoving away his tray, Alex cradled his head on the table without saying anything.

"It'll help," Yassen drawled. "Unless you'd like to spend the rest of your morning in the infirmary."

Already a bit dizzy, Alex grumbled, "All right, I'll bite."

He allowed Yassen to quietly walk him through the steps of breathing in, holding his breath, exhaling, and holding again, all on the same count of four. It was simple stuff. After going through the motions a few times, Alex felt his gasps begin to taper into steadier breaths. He kept his head on the table though, suddenly tired and cranky and irrationally annoyed. Automatically reaching for his juice, he let his hand drop back to the table before he could actually grab it. The panic attack had preceded the hallucination, but Alex wasn't interested in pressing his luck.

Yassen finished up his yogurt, seemingly only half interested in the boy across from him. "You know it's not snake blood," he said, nodding to Alex's juice.

Alex scowled. "Unless Ocean Spray has changed it's formula, obviously not."

"And you realize how little you've had to eat today."

"Why are you doing this?" Alex raised his head and glared, unsure why he was so angry at the man. "And when did you become such a nag?"

Yassen grimaced and pushed his tray aside. "Evidently, since I came here with nothing better to fill my time than reminding you of common sense. You're welcome to ignore my advice and spend the rest of the day in the infirmary hooked up to an IV."

With a final withering look, Alex returned his head to arms. "The last time I took your advice," he hissed, dropping his voice to a low whisper. "I ended up an enemy of the state, nearly assassinated the deputy head of MI6 over a bunch of 'he said, she said' bullshit, accidentally crushed Julia R-" Alex bit back the surname before it could tumble past his lips. He took a deep breath and spat, "And got shot. From. Following. Your. Advice."

Yassen didn't respond.

Alex peeked over the ridge of his arm, wondering if perhaps he'd gone too far. His anger was already ebbing. Yassen had helped him catch his breath, even if he'd been annoying and condescending about it. He even seemed concerned with Alex's health, for whatever reasons he had, be they boredom or whatever weird moral code he operated on. It wasn't his fault that among his many, many problems, Alex now suffered mood swings. Should he apologize?

He found the former Scorpia assassin staring at him with twitching lips. "God, I hope some of that's true. All from following my advice?"

Alex sat upright with a sigh and took a swig of juice, voice fading to a grumble. "It was a never-ending parade of people who wanted to kill me because my dad was an asshole to them in the nineties. I could have lived without that, you know."

"I'm sure John would agree," Yassen said.

Alex snorted. "That I could have lived without all that or that he was an asshole in the nineties?"

"A bit of both, perhaps." Yassen offered him a piece of toast from his plate, since everything on Alex's was speckled with drops of cranberry juice.

He was halfway through his second piece before he realized what had happened. "You tricked me," he said, taking another bite and glaring at the remaining bread.

"It's even whole grain," Yassen informed him, buttering another piece and handing it to him. Alex could have sworn he seemed amused. A little tired, perhaps, and far from happy, but amused. "No more snake blood?"

Alex stared down at his almost empty bottle before glancing at the clock mounted above the entrance. He took a final bite from the offered piece and stood, feeling a bit more clear headed and preparing to kiss that feeling goodbye. His medications waited for him in his cell. "No more snake blood."

O

Alex raised his eyebrows at the woman seated across from his perch on the floral patterned couch, but didn't really have the energy to do much more than that. Dr. Wood seemed to be only in her early thirties, sandy blonde hair twisted up behind her head with a half chewed pencil. Her gray pantsuit and black heels looked decently professional, he supposed, but based on the way she leaned against her clipboard, he had to say she was decidedly uncomfortable and more than a little inexperienced. He'd gotten good at judging therapists lately.

Alex rolled his eyes, glance flickering across the printer paper and crayons set neatly on the coffee table. He smothered a sigh. If she asked him to draw his feelings, he would diligently pretend he didn't speak English.

"So…. Alex." Wood fidgeted in her seat. "Why don't you tell me a little about yourself."

He pressed his lips into a thin line. "You have my file, don't you? Or is this a get to know you sort of thing?"

Wood looked a little startled. "Right, right. You've done plenty of these before. Um, assume it's a get to know you thing. Just go for it."

Alex raised his eyebrows again before offering her a resigned sigh. Yet another MI6 (or CIA perhaps, she sounded western American for some reason) shrink to evaluate his mental state, only this time there was really no point in playing along, was there? He'd never go on another mission; in fact, he'd never leave this prison, at least if he understood his afterlife's punishment correctly. Why put up the pretense? Then again, not everyone here seemed to realize that they were dead, so maybe all these parallels and pointless exercises were designed to maintain the illusion that everything was normal, if not bore him to tears as an added bonus.

She was still waiting on his answer.

He sighed again, feeling sleepiness wash over him. At least he hadn't had any objectively noticeable hallucinations today. It was easier to think without all the extra sedatives they could stab him with. "Hi. I'm Alex. I'm fifteen, I'm crazy now, and I like football. Sorry, you sound American. I meant soccer. Your turn."

"Oh, uh, I'm Briar," Dr. Wood said, after a pause. "You can call me that, if you like. And yes, my parents named me Briar Wood. It doesn't actually mean anything; they just have a lame sense of humor and, like, mild unoriginality. I'm your new therapist. We'll meet every day until I can get a handle on how you're doing and after that, we can adjust our sessions to whatever works best. Why don't you tell me more about being crazy now as opposed to before."

Alex grimaced. He was definitely in hell.

She wasn't even a good therapist. He was already fairly certain and she'd hardly opened her mouth. Wasn't she supposed to spend at least fifteen minutes getting to know him and earning his trust before gently probing around the corners of his condition? No one had ever just jumped right in. He was a kid after all.

"Can't I just color my feelings?" he asked her, waving a limp, tired hand at the crayons on the table. "Or do whatever non-talking bullshit exercise you've got planned? I'm really not in the mood."

Briar tossed the clipboard to the table in front of her before leaning back in her seat. "Look, kid, you seem to at least have half your lid on straight so I'm going to be frank with you. Cards all on the table and whatnot. I'm not a particularly great therapist. Hell, I'm woefully under qualified to treat you."

Alex felt his mouth dangle. He shut it abruptly.

"I admit that freely," she went on, waving her pen in the air with an annoyed frown. "We're not under audio or video surveillance here. Normally, I spend my sessions with perfectly sane patients watching TV. I considered starting season one of Pretty Little Liars with you today. Most often, my patients are awful or boring and have little desire to change. Considering that none of them will ever leave, there's really no point in trying to ferret out why their sexism stems from their childhood fear of ceramic roosters or whatever. That's not what I'm trying to do with you."

Alex stared, half considering the idea that he might be actively hallucinating this woman. Nothing about her was remotely like any memories he consciously retained, though. He seen anything completely new this vividly before. Maybe her accent came out of a John Wayne film he'd seen as a child? Her appearance some random lady on the street he'd once passed? That, or he'd managed to punch through every sane layer of the underworld and this is where he'd landed.

He grimaced. "What are you trying to do with me?"

She juggled two imaginary weights, tilting her head to match. "On the one hand, I want good things for you and would love to tackle all your problems, right down to those childhood fears of ceramic roosters. You seem like an okay kid and nothing that's happened to you is your fault. I don't think you actually belong here. Like, maybe in a nicer hospital, but definitely not here. You clearly aren't interested in talking to yet another shrink and pouring out your heart and soul straight into MI6's files. Fuck them, right?"

Alex gave a cautious nod. It seemed like the only appropriate answer.

"On the other," she pressed on. "You are not well. I'm incompetent, sure, but I don't possess the level of negligence necessary to leave you in this condition. I get it if you don't like me or don't want to trust me- and that's super okay! Really. I just want to help you stop these episodes. Or at least make them easier to live with. Hell, if you get well too quickly, MI6 will probably just try and put you back in the field and no one wants that. The only questions I'm going to ask is what I need to know to help you medically. After that, I promise we'll watch Pretty Little Liars for the rest of our sessions together. Or another show. I'll be nice and let you pick."

Alex narrowed his eyes at her. She might be lying but… "No talking about my feelings?"

"Only as symptoms of a medical problem."

"Or my childhood?"

"Same answer."

"And my drug use?" Alex hesitated then blurted out, "I'm not an addict. I didn't even do it to get high."

She shrugged. "I believe you. Honestly, looking at your record I'm pretty sure you were just treating your symptoms before MI6 even realized there was a problem."

Alex gnawed on his lip. There was only one last sticking point he could think of. "And if I do this for you, I can stop taking some of the anti-psychotics? They don't help. At all."

Briar grimaced. "I can't make any promises, but I really hope so."

Alex allowed himself to relax fractionally, chewing on his bottom lip."Do you think I'm schizophrenic? That was my last doctor's diagnosis."

Briar rifled through the papers on her clipboard. "I'm not sure yet. It's not your official diagnosis, by the way. At least, it's not in your file as such."

Alex blew out a slow breath, studying her. She could easily be lying to him. This whole ditzy American lady thing could be an act from start to finish, designed to lull him into a false sense of security. Even so, he wasn't entirely sure what he had left to lose. Afterlife-MI6 had the time to pry the details of his life out of him bit by bit, if they still cared, so it wasn't like he really thought his stonewalling them was going to amount to much. Briar did seem genuinely focused on treating the medical aspects rather than his feelings as well. If there was any chance to get off of even one of his stupid medications, he wanted to seize it.

He nodded and rubbed his eyes. "Okay, deal. But we watch the Jersey Shore instead of Pretty Little Liars."

"I agree to your terms," she said, smiling just a little. It seemed strained. Alex felt a little bad for her. She did seem genuinely upset about this whole situation, even if there was no point in worrying about it. Maybe he'd tell her that, if he was allowed. Now that he thought about it, he'd forgotten to ask Yassen if the don't-tell-people-they're-dead rule was permanent or temporary. "Just give me ten more minutes of talking about your problems time."

He waved a hand in a might as well motion.

"When did you first notice the hallucinations?" Briar leaned forward. "You didn't give a solid timeline to your other doctors, but the estimation on file is that they've been going on for about four months."

Alex scowled. "Will all of this go into my file?"

"Some of it," Briar supplied helpfully. "And only if it will help you long term. I'll make up the rest of the emotional stuff, just with pieces of the truth. But back to the hallucinations, kid. When did they start?"

Alex crossed his arms, ignoring the twinge of his bruised ribs. Painkillers were wearing off. "I don't know. They were really subtle at first. Food would taste wrong or people would look just a bit different. I'd hear things when it was otherwise quiet, like my uncle scolding me for not practicing karate enough. Sometimes I wouldn't even feel stressed before they happened, they would just come up for a split second and scare the shit out of me for a minute or two. I thought it was stupid, but normal. You know, the way you get after watching a horror movie. Jumping at shadows. Imagining things. At least, it seemed small until after…."

"After what?" she prompted, stills scribbling. Her hair flowed around her shoulders, having been tugged down to reclaim another pen.

There was no point in putting it off. It was already in his file.

"After Jack died," Alex said, feeling a bubble of grief rise in him. He shoved it down violently. Thinking too much about things- any things, especially things that upset him- seemed to just invite the hallucinations. Another reason he hated therapy. He tried to skim the thought. "They got much, much worse. Stressful and scary. So much harder to ignore."

"Like what?"

"Can't you get it from my file?" he snapped.

"I need to line it all up, Alex. I need to try and make a timeline." Her voice was almost apologetic.

He sighed, rubbing his arms. "Like the one with the crocodiles, biting at my feet while my arms burn and shake. Like the crusher, nipping at my toes while I'm strapped to the assembly line. Like the fire around me, filling my lungs with smoke as I try to climb up into the ceiling to escape. Watching the man who's going to buy my eyes arrive. Drowning. Bleeding. Being waterboarded. Jack burning. Julius waiting around the corner with a gun. That sort of thing."

Briar swallowed. "These seem really specific."

"That's because they sucked. I guess they made an impression."

Briar paused, chewing her lip. "Are all of your hallucinations memories? I've read through the abbreviated list of your missions MI6 provided. A lot of these seem to match up with those."

Alex shrugged, staring at his lap. "I think so. Can we watch TV yet?"

"Almost." Briar flipped a page and circled something. "What about the panic attacks and anxiety? When did that start?"

Alex waved a helpless hand. "The big ones started after Jack died. Everything was awful after Jack died."

Briar nodded, face creasing with sympathy. "I can see that."

"I don't know," Alex went on absently, picking at a thread from his t-shirt. "I mean, my uncle died and it wasn't great, but it didn't seem to swallow me up the way this did. I've seen lots of people die before. I don't like it. It's upsetting. I just-" Alex looked up and glared. "Even on days where I could convince myself that it wasn't my fault she died, all of a sudden I'd be upset and hallucinating. I just don't understand why it started getting so bad. It was almost like they had nothing to do with each other."

"Grief and guilt go hand in hand, sometimes in strange ways," she told him. "You also never saw your uncle die, so far as I know. So you had panic attacks before Jack passed?"

"She was murdered," Alex snapped. "And yes, I've had them since I started spying. But it was just… moments then. Moments where nothing was okay or safe or good, but then it would pass and I could go back to class and be fine. My heart would race and I'd get a bit sweaty, I guess, but I could breathe fine. No one even had to know they were happening." Alex clenched his fists and glared at his knees. "Are we done? The ten minutes are nearly up. I don't like thinking about all this."

"I'll hurry." Briar's pen paused over the page. "Maybe it would better to ask which new symptoms appeared after Jack died. A lot of these seem like long term problems that got worse. Did anything new start happening?"

It wasn't a bad question, but Alex could already feel his heart rate picking up. "No, not really. I'm going to have a panic attack," he informed her, feeling the familiar numbness creep into him in a familiar warning. "And I'm not going to talk about this anymore today. Can you just put the show on?"

Briar nodded, setting her pen down and picking up the remote from the coffee table. With a few taps at the buttons, a menu popped up. "I understand. Sorry I pushed you, but we need to get a solid baseline understanding of your symptoms. Once we're done with that, we'll mostly just watch TV for our daily sessions, I promise."

Alex kept his eyes glued to the screen, watching the episode teasers as his breathing sped up. Somewhere behind him, Julius pulled out a gun and Jack exploded and things moved in the dark corners of the warden's living room, dragging their scales across the polished wood floors as they hungrily hunted for his feet. He drew them onto the couch beneath him and shut his eyes.

Checking to make sure the Briar was watching the show and not him, he took a slow breath and began counting. One, two, three, four….


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Another Monday, another chapter! Since this one is so heavy on Yassen's POV and offers none of Alex's, I'll probably throw up another chapter just to ensure we all get our weekly dose of Alex. :)
> 
> Thanks so much for all your comments and reviews! They really, really help me with writing this fic. Even if you aren't sure you have any criticism to offer, telling me which parts you really liked, made you curious, that you have predictions about, or found confusing is equally valuable. Not only is it a nice bit of encouragement to keep going, it also helps me understand which elements I should include more of or decide what isn't working the way I intended it to.
> 
> Also, I should probably clear up a point of confusion which Milano Topazh cleverly spotted about the timeline. :D Horowitz tends to treat his timelines as "current day" every time he comes out with a new book, so it can be tricky to try and anchor a fic in any one decade. For the purpose of this story, I decided to more or less drop anchor with the timeline suggested in Russian Roulette. In the third paragraph of his diary, Yassen says he's describing Russia "about ten years before the end of the twentieth century". Putting my guess-timation skills to work, that makes Yassen 14 roughly in the 1990-1993 range, which in turn pushes his experiences with John at 19 in the 1995-1998 range (coincidentally putting Alex's birth in that same time span, given that his mother was pregnant when Yassen and John were in Paris). Thus, the current time period for this story is roughly 2010-2013-ish. I'm trying to keep it fairly vague, mostly because this series is plagued by confusing time lines, but when in doubt, nonspecifically early 2010's is the vibe I'm angling for.

When Alex entered the dining hall at lunchtime, Yassen watched him glance around the room, eyes flicking over the two long tables as he loaded his tray. Of the two, either of which could have fit the entirety of the inmates alone, Yassen's was the only one otherwise unoccupied. Hamad, Dart, and Ivan (the other foreign intelligence agent) were engaged in a lively debate over the role of subliminal messaging in the Cold War. The terrorists evidently planned on a late lunch and had yet to arrive. With only a brief second of hesitation, Alex chose the lesser of the two evils and sat down across from Yassen.

Yassen suppressed a groan. He was the only person the boy knew. Alex was a child. He'd be drawn to the familiar.

There was no point in bemoaning the loss of the facade that he and Alex had little to do with each other. It had been tactically handled, yes, between his conversation with the warden and his warning to Alex. It still would have been nice to have that extra layer of protection between his life in prison and his history as a contract killer. Alex was just another piece of that puzzle, one that could potentially bring the whole thing together for someone who had access to the right files. Yassen had no doubt that their interactions would be heavily monitored for the next few weeks, at least until the warden was satisfied that his house was in order. Their last fifteen-year-old psychiatric case had been a fiasco.

On the other hand, Yassen didn't particularly want to avoid Hunter's orphan, even if it served a practical purpose to do so. There were just as many practical reasons to do the opposite; by sticking close, Yassen could just as easily prevent Alex from revealing too much in his medication-addled state. So long as the prison staff continued to follow their orders to keep his identity a secret, Yassen should be in no greater danger of assassination than before.

Alex picked up his sandwich and took a slow, borderline apathetic bite. Something was off about the way he moved: small, jerkily, and close to his body. Yassen couldn't recall him hurting his arms in either the library or during his lawn brawl, though he supposed with Alex's fits, anything was possible within a fifteen minute time span. His black eye stood out more harshly against his pale skin, deep purple beginning to mottle into blue. With a small twitch, Alex drew his legs up onto the seat beside him and continued eating in silence.

Yassen sighed aloud, picking at his salad with his plastic fork. "The crusher again?"

Alex started, then shook his head. "Crocodiles."

"Does that particular hallucination require climbing on tables as well?" he asked, glancing around the canteen as he bit a baby carrot in half. As far as he could tell, no one else had noticed Alex's mounting anxiety. "That won't go over well in here."

Alex scowled at him and slumped forward to lay his head on the table. "Maybe."

Through the window, several guards patrolled into sight, close at hand. All were now equipped with the syringes Yassen had seen in the library, carried in reinforced pouches strapped to their belts. No doubt they'd just so happen to be in the same general area as Alex for the next few days. If Yassen had to a hazard a guess, they were all going to be getting crash-courses on intramuscular injections whether their training was official or not.

"Does being sedated help?" Yassen asked him, glancing away from the window.

Heaving a sigh, the boy sat up and snapped, "No, not usually. It just keeps me from climbing on things or starting trouble. Instead, I get to feel more helpless and trapped. Why? Are you hoping for an excuse to see me get stabbed again?"

Yassen shrugged. "I just want to know what to expect."

"Yeah," Alex grumbled, setting down his sandwich. He was quiet for another minute. "I get it. Being around me is like rolling the dice. Violent hallucinations or mood swings today? Get ready to find out."

Yassen raised an eyebrow. "Feeling lucky, I take it."

"Ask the crocodiles," Alex muttered, drawing his legs tighter around him. That had to hurt, given that his rib was supposedly injured.

"Have you found a way to make the hallucinations end?"

"If I did, do you think I would be here?" Alex leveled a tired glare at him. "I already went to therapy today. I'm so sick of talking about it. Why does my entire life have to be about this?"

"With Dr. Wood?" Yassen asked him, not bothering to conceal his amusement. "What are you watching?"

Alex cracked a small smile, even as he shifted into a crouch on his chair. His crocodiles must be closing in. "Jersey Shore. She wanted to start Pretty Little Liars but I vetoed it. What are you watching?"

"The X-files."

"Any good?" Alex's voice was strained.

Yassen humored his unspoken request for distraction. After all, it had successfully suppressed the snake blood, so perhaps it would work again. It wasn't as though he'd had other plans for how he'd spend breakfast. He tilted his hand from side to side. "So-so. The special effects aren't much, but the storytelling has its clever moments."

It wasn't enough.

Scooting his tray to the side, Alex crawled onto the table, kneeling carefully away from Yassen's food as he looked back down at the floor. "Sorry. They're getting closer."

The other table fell silent, all eyes watching the boy; bored, but friendly spectators occasionally poking at their food but mostly focused on the promise of guard intervention.

"You're the one who's going to get stabbed with a tranquilizer," Yassen pointed out, taking a sip of water from his bottle. Returning the majority of his attention to his salad, he watched Alex out of the corner of his eye. "Do you ever climb high enough?"

"Sort of." Alex eased onto his feet and stood, eyes still latched on the speckled cream linoleum tiling. He wrapped his arms around himself, though Yassen doubted the air conditioning was to blame. "I can't escape the crusher, but one time I climbed a flagpole and got away from the crocodiles by staying there for a half hour. Also, got me drug tested. Then expelled."

Yassen frowned. "I'm sure that did your studies no favors."

"What does it matter now?" Alex shot him a look as he eased onto his tiptoes.

Right. Yassen had told him not to talk about being dead, or at least confirmed Alex's suspicion that he shouldn't bring it up openly. Yassen plucked his fork from his tray and started on his eggs, frowning. That sort of thinking couldn't go on if Alex had a shot at recovery from whatever madness had gripped his mind, but at the moment it was also the main way he was maintaining Alex's silence.

Now was probably a bad time to try and persuade the brat otherwise, at any rate.

"Besides," Alex continued, flinching as his ankles wobbled. His breathing sped into rapid pants. "it wasn't even my school. I did fail the mission, though."

Two guards entered through the main entrance, paces tense but unhurried.

The older guard who'd apprehended Alex before, Sheffield, showed Alex his syringe as he approached. It was identical to the one they'd stabbed him with in the library. A completely different guard accompanied him, however. Alex must have injured the other. "Come on, boy-o," he called, voice clipped. "Don't do this again. You've damn near broke a rib yesterday with this same stunt. Wouldn't it be a shame to spend more time in the punishment block just because you won't behave yourself?"

Alex regarded him warily, eyes darting back to the empty floor. Blanched. "I can't."

Yassen gave the guard a flat look, feeling unexpectedly defensive. The boy was neither violent nor in any danger. At most, the table was four feet off the ground and there was nowhere higher for him to leap to. Soaking wet, Alex was far too light to break any of the sturdy furniture, even with a significant amount of momentum. At worst, he was a mildly irritating obstacle to anyone trying to eat. "There's no need. Just let him alone."

"Stay out of this, Six." Sheffield turned back to Alex. A touch of exasperation tinged his voice. "There's an easy way and a hard way, boy-o. It's not complicated. Just get down from there and you can finish your lunch in peace."

"I can't," Alex repeated, entire body tense. His voice bordered on a plea.

"If you insist." Sheffield nodded the man beside him.

Alex hesitated, clearly considering the trouble if he put up a fight. For phantom crocodiles, they had to be pretty terrible if he ultimately decided solitary confinement was better than facing their ghosts. Sweeping his leg in a precise arc, he knocked the injection from the guard's hand. It clattered to the floor and rolled a few feet until a table leg stopped it.

"Damn it, boy," the guard swore, clutching his wrist. "Don't let him-"

Alex scrambled backwards down the length of the table as the other man lunged at him. He missed, knocking over the boy's unfinished plate and sending it to the floor. Alex nearly fell off the edge of the table avoiding the grab.

Dropping his fork onto his plate, Yassen grimaced and stood.

There was no reason he had to get involved and yet…

Yassen made his move. Snatching the syringe from where it had tumbled to the linoleum, he darted to the end of the table. Alex was out of runway, now backed against the very edge and facing two angry guards. Nowhere left to run. Without bothering to listen to the shouts of the guards, Yassen stabbed the needle into the boy's thigh and depressed the plunger.

"Don't!" Eyes widening with surprise and a surprising flicker of betrayal, the boy twisted in place and slammed his hand into the side of Yassen's head.

The angle was awkward and Alex too startled to make a proper fist. It hurt, but wasn't enough to impede Yassen beyond the promise of a mild headache later. With a grunt, Yassen ignored the follow-up hit to the same spot and wrapped his arms around Alex's legs.

Alex kicked wildly as Yassen twisted him mid-air and set him down on the floor with all the grace of gymnast practicing a familiar routine. "Stop! They're still there! I can still feel them."

"I know." He didn't bother apologizing, though the inane urge welled up anyway. Why had Alex looked betrayed? That implied at least a passing amount of trust. He supposed getting shot by Cray may have counterbalanced their otherwise violent history, at least in the boy's mind.

Sliding behind him, Yassen hooked his arms under and around Alex's as the boy tried to climb back onto the table. Twisting them up behind his head, Yassen braced his hands against the boy's neck, dragging him away from the table.

Alex thrashed, unable to find purchase or manage a solid kick. He didn't even come close to breaking the hold. "They're here, they're here... " he moaned.

It shouldn't be this easy to restrain him, Yassen mused. Not at fifteen. He frowned, realizing with a start that Alex still barely reached his shoulder in height. He hadn't seen the boy in over a year. Shouldn't he have grown more by now? John had been over six feet and he faintly recalled the uncle being about the same.

"Fuck you, Yass-" Alex slurred.

Yassen tightened his grip on his neck in warning. No more slip-ups.

The boy shut his mouth immediately. Yassen shook his head and stepped back as Alex's knees buckled, the drug having finally taken effect. The sedatives should have taken a maximum of fifteen minutes to kick in, but Alex was underweight in general, undersized for the dose he'd been given, and pumped full of enough adrenaline to circulate the drug quickly. Based on the amount in the syringe, the warden wasn't taking any chances.

Yassen held his hands aloft for the now approaching guards, kneeling a safe distance from the boy.

This stupid fucking family.

O

The warden swung open Yassen's cell in the punishment block without aplomb. Reclining against the decidedly uncomfortable metal bed that had been bolted into the wall, Yassen watched the man with vague disinterest as he instructed the guards who'd followed him in to take up post outside.

Not for the first time, Yassen mused on how he would kill this particular man if given the chance. Military training, with backup nearby, and close quarters. Challenging, but not impossible. Yassen would have to strike fast and hopefully without warning, lest he be drawn into a more complicated fight. Probably wise to strike his throat first, to prevent him summoning help. It was a pleasant fantasy, of course, but as Yassen had quickly discovered, the prison's tight, thorough, and dishearteningly unconcealed surveillance prevented him from ever trying to make that dream a reality. That was probably the point. Instead, he remained immobile on the cot and waited.

The warden studied him in silence, arms clasped loosely behind his back. "You know physical contact is forbidden between prisoners for any reason. Why did you intervene?"

Yassen glanced up at the ceiling of the sparse, cinder block cell. A single, caged light bulb illuminated the room. He'd scarcely been here an hour and already he was asked to justify his actions. While he'd hoped for more time to mull over his answer, the swiftness of this visit alone was telling. "The guards seem to lack the skill to restrain him without injury. If they tackle him again, he'll probably break that rib."

"I see." The warden gazed at him impassively. Yassen could feel his eyes boring into the side of his head. "And that was worth three days in the punishment block? This will be your first stay. Seems like an odd time to break your streak."

Shrugging, Yassen didn't respond. Let the warden read into his actions to his heart's content. Not that Yassen fully understood his actions either. Maybe it was Alex's resemblance to Hunter that prompted him. Something about that face twisted in panic and pain, with just a touch of baby fat clinging to his angled cheeks, that made it hard for Yassen to ignore. Boredom was always a possibility. Maybe it was pity. Maybe Yassen was just getting old and sentimental.

The warden was silent, clearly waiting for an answer.

As tempted as Yassen was to let him wait indefinitely, something told him that the warden wasn't just here to round out his incident report. "He can't really help it," he settled on, after a while. "His injuries will only compound the complications of his condition."

"I agree with you," said the warden. He stared at the floor, pursing his lips. "And as you say, my staff isn't trained to handle a case like his. I've put in several requests for additional aid."

Perhaps Alex would manage after all. Yassen inclined his head, but otherwise gave no other indication that he was listening.

The warden leaned back against the cinderblock wall. "I've been observing Alex closely since he arrived. He's been here less than three days and has required involuntary sedation for each one. In fact, I think it's likely that he hallucinates far more often and we're only addressing the incidents that escalate out of his control. The current opinion of my medical team is that Alex will require constant supervision by a psychiatric nurse if we're to contain him properly. Unfortunately, it will take weeks before my requests for so many additional resources and personnel are even reviewed."

Yassen waited. A lot of information was being offered, which suggested an exchange. Of what, remained to be seen.

"In the meantime," the warden continued. "Alex cannot continue racking up and dispensing injuries in equal measures. Short of keeping him sedated in the punishment block permanently, I don't have a lot of options to protect both the boy and my staff from his episodes."

"Exactly how do I factor into that?" Yassen laced his fingers together over his stomach, turning only his head to give the man his complete attention. "I doubt you are telling me this for no reason."

The warden nodded, hard eyes never leaving Yassen's face. "I'd like you to temporarily act as Alex's minder. The boy already knows you and you clearly show some kind of aptitude for recognizing and de-escalating his episodes."

Yassen stifled a second groan for the day. "Have I?"

The warden shrugged lightly. "As I said, we've been observing him, and by proxy, you. As far as I can tell, you handled that snake-blood thing as well as I can imagine being done. You don't have to be his doctor. You don't even have to approach his mental and emotional conditions, though we might need you to report on those from time to time. I'm just asking you to have a more direct role in keeping him under control. Like a child sitter."

Yassen raised an eyebrow. "You want me, an adult inmate, to constantly supervise a child?"

The warden half winced. "You don't have to hold his hand, just keep him close by. Apart from when either of you attend therapy, you'll be expected to be the first responder to his fits. I take it from today's incident that you know how to administer intramuscular injections?"

Yassen looked back at the ceiling. "You seem awfully confident I'll agree to a round the clock responsibility, warden."

His disinterest was more for show than anything else. He already knew he was going to say yes.

Whatever compulsion he felt to involve himself with Alex Rider had yet to show signs of ebbing. The warden's request would simply give him an official reason to continue to do so. While not impossible, it would also make it much more difficult for Alex to slip up and reveal Yassen's identity without him knowing. Especially as Alex became more familiar to the staff and inmates, Yassen couldn't count on them to assume the boy was completely delusional: they might very well believe him if he accidentally mentioned his missions. At the very least, Yassen would have an opportunity to counter the damage such information could inflict before it could spread.

Boredom was admittedly a factor as well: Yassen had to constantly employ his Malogosto-taught meditation skills to keep himself from crumbling. He couldn't train properly, couldn't research anything, could barely continue learning Japanese or any of the many languages he intended to begin. Life as an assassin may have had it's slow times, but at least he'd had free reign over how to keep himself entertained. Alex's condition posed both a challenge and a way to fill his time in prison.

Then again, there was no point in volunteering for free.

"What do you want?" the warden asked, folding his arms in front of himself after Yassen allowed the silence to drag on long enough to make his point. "I'm sure we can work out something that will make it worth your time."

"Twenty four hour gym access," Yassen said immediately. "And deciding power over any new titles ordered for the library."

"Deal." The warden scowled. "I'm going to see a lot of complaints over the library ordering, you know."

Yassen snorted. "I'm sure you'll find a way to get the latest Stephen King novel approved before you do a psychiatric assistant."

"Don't underestimate bureaucracy, Six." Popping his head out of the room, the warden barked a quick order before turning back to the assassin. "You're free to return to your cell. I'll update the rest of the staff by dinner time about the change. Alex is in cell seven, beside yours. He should be there now, sleeping off the sedatives."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Here's the second chapter for the day. Happy New Years!

As the guards unceremoniously dumped Alex in his cell, he decided he was not going to be sleeping off his sedatives. He stretched out on his bed, feeling the fuzziness sweep across his brain and fighting the creeping tendrils of sleep. Well, batting them away. As much as he craved the rest, he didn't want life to return to those last few days in the MI6 facility: waking, shuffling over to food, sleeping, waking again, bathing, eating more food while he struggled to stay awake long enough to have a quick session with a doctor, waking again to realize he'd fallen asleep without realizing it…. Even if the drugged sleep lacked the nightmares he so dreaded, it was hardly worth the sacrifice of feeling like he was sleeping through all of his waking hours too.

The crocodiles prowled and hissed as they dug their claws into the carpet, waiting for him to slip off the bed and onto the floor. They must be lazy today, unwilling to climb up on the mattress to get at him. Once in a while his legs would jerk, the sensation of creeping canines and the near miss of a snapping jaw too much for his nervous system to ignore completely.

He dragged in a lungful of air and turned on the TV. Flicked aimlessly through the channels for a few minutes before finding an American high-school drama of some kind. Distraction was his only hope. There was a tightening in his chest as the school bell chimed on the screen and a dozen children streamed back into class. Swallowing, he jabbed at the remote with shaking fingers.

No more school. No more teachers. No more Tom and James.

He let his eyes flutter shut, struggling to keep his breathing under control. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.

One of the crocodiles hissed at him, circling.

Alex missed school. He'd been a good student once, but even as that had begun to slip he'd made every effort to attend if at all possible. It had been a welcome distraction from the racing thoughts in his head, though intellectually he knew that they hadn't been a good combination. He'd been utterly unable to focus as the anxiety attacks grew more frequent. By the time the hallucinations had become a regular, near predictable thing, Alex was either too scared or too high to even attempt to pay attention to his lessons.

Maybe it would have been different if MI6 had allowed him to go back to Brooklands instead of carting him off on a mission right away.

Alex sat up, ignoring the mild dizziness that seemed to accompany sudden movement nowadays. Something to do with his blood pressure, he supposed. He couldn't just sit here and think. Thinking would just lead to remembering, which would lead to being frustrated or sad or scared and those were all guaranteed to impact his hallucinations. Ripping his iPod from his jeans pocket, he thumbed across the menu to the first song he saw, not recognizing the language.

Fighting to keep his eyes open, he studiously listened to the music. Some sort of Korean jazz, if he had to take a guess. He randomly selected another song, listening to a bizarre combination of bluegrass washboards and electric guitars. Country metal, maybe? He chuckled. Tom would have probably laughed at Smither's musical taste too.

-Tom's arm popped, crunched, cracked as it broke-

Music wasn't good enough of a distraction, Alex decided. Opening the secret menu, he considered his options. He'd already examined the accommodation block for bugs and used the infrared to glean the rest, knowing full well he was under at least a few kinds of surveillance here. The security measures didn't really matter in the long run since Alex knew better than to try and escape his punishment, but Alex couldn't quite smother the instincts of the spy within him. He wanted to know.

That had shot him in the foot right away.

Apparently, his punishment was at least in part knowing that he was watched every second of the day. He would never have privacy again. That rankled, but not as much as knowing that even with Yassen fucking Gregorovich right here, he'd never be able to ask him anything he couldn't keep vague. The more he thought about it, the more he realized it was impossible to ask about the things he really, really cared about: not about Scorpia, not about his father, and certainly not about his own bizarre motivations for stepping in on Alex's behalf from the moment he took a bullet for him on Air Force One to whatever that debacle in the dining hall had been. Alex's curiosity burned, but would never be satisfied.

This really was a well-constructed hell, tailored perfectly to Alex himself.

Bug sweeping was out, then. He tapped on the Audio Surveillance feature and rolled backwards and onto his side, pretending to get comfortable as he swept the iPod in a handful of directions. Screeching tires and explosions told him that one of his neighbors was watching a movie, some sort of action flick. Fast and the Furious maybe? Moving his iPod in an arc, he could follow a pair of patrolling guards' bets on the next football game. Silence. Silence. He kept shifting his arm. A bird calling.

Bored already, he rolled over onto his other side, hoping for something a little more interesting.

"-know physical contact is forbidden between prisoners for any reason. Why did you intervene?"

The warden's voice was unmistakable. Alex held his hand steady, feeling his wrist cramp a little at the angle.

Silence. Alex was afraid he'd inadvertently lost his signal when Yassen replied, "The guards seem to lack the skill to restrain him without injury. If they tackle him again, he'll probably break that rib."

They were talking about him. Flexing his wrist minutely, Alex settled against his headboard, ears straining to make out every word. By the time they finished speaking, and the warden excused Yassen to track Alex down, Alex was already numbly switching back to music.

He couldn't believe it. Not the sitter part- it made perfect sense that the warden wanted him supervised. As much as it rankled to be treated like a small child prone to temper tantrums, Alex wasn't stupid enough to think himself completely harmless. Powerless, yes, but not harmless. He had assumed that he'd eventually be either thrown into solitary confinement or assigned a full-time guard, not passed off on another inmate who'd proven willing to tackle him. And assigning Yassen? Of all people here capable of following him around and poking him with a needle, they'd pick the one man-- the one man!-- who'd murdered his uncle and thus kicked off the shit-storm of a mess his life had become since.

His mouth dropped open as understanding flooded him.

Actually, now that he thought about it, that made sense. Perfect, horrible sense.

His father and Yassen had been friends. Yassen had said that he'd loved him in a way, so maybe one of the worst things Yassen ever did was betray John Rider by killing Ian. Alex's punishment for killing Julius was taking his place in prison. Was Yassen being punished in the same way? Ian's role had been Alex's carer in a very loose sense (though Alex snorted at the idea of Ian doing anything remotely domestic as childcare), much like Julius's had been a prisoner.

What a bloody mess.

Alex groaned. It wasn't as if they'd ever be able to look at each other for very long without remembering some pretty unpleasant experiences. It was already bizarre enough to see the man when Alex wasn't deliberately avoiding thinking about it too much. Whoever was in charge of the afterlife was clearly a genius. There were so many layers.

O

A few hours after he'd been released from the punishment block, Yassen rapped his knuckles on Alex's cell door. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he waited patiently for the sound of the boy's staggering footsteps to grow closer. The distant roar of a crowd became louder suddenly as Alex yanked open his door, a football game blaring loudly on the TV behind him, flashing bright against the surrounding darkness of the room.

"What time is it?" Alex asked him, barefoot and blinking against the light of the hallway. His long blonde hair stuck up in the back.

"Nearly five," Yassen informed him, stepping back from the door. A quick glance confirmed that the hallway was still empty. "Did the warden send anyone to speak with you yet?"

Alex shook his head, rubbing a hand through his hair. Finding the stuck-up part, he made a face and raked his fingers through the tangle irritably. "No. Why?"

"He's asked me to watch you," Yassen said, preparing himself for the litany of questions Alex surely had. It certainly wasn't a typical prison arrangement. As much as Alex seemed unbothered by Yassen's presence at the prison, he rather suspected that had more to do with the infrequency of their contact and the scope of his drug-induced apathy. Yassen's constant company was sure to be met with more than a few minor objections.

"Right." Alex blinked again, before scowling. "I'm not a kid, you know. I don't need a full-time babysitter to follow me around forever."

Yassen schooled his expression into neutral. What had made Alex assume this was full time, instead of for perhaps the next hour or so? It was a small thing, but too much of a convenient leap to be a proper coincidence. Assassins who believed in coincidences tended to be dead assassins.

Was Alex hiding something?

Alex's expression showed no signs of deception as he yawned, leaning against the doorway and blinking owlishly in the light of the hallway. Yassen allowed himself to relax fractionally. It was more likely that Alex was just confused or had failed to form the memory of a visit. Perhaps someone had been by to speak with him and Alex had simply forgotten, being half asleep.

"Treating dining tables like jungle gyms and library shelves like monkey bars is probably not the best way to convince the warden of that." Yassen nodded to where Alex's trainers lay scattered on the floor beside the bed. "Get your shoes. Nurse Scalia wants to see you before dinner."

"Why?" he grumbled, turning around to grab them by their laces. He sat on the bed and began yanking them on. "It's the same sedatives they gave me yesterday. Hell, it's essentially the same stuff as my pills. If some weird chemical reaction was going to happen, I'd already be vomiting blood."

Yassen raised an eyebrow at that, but Alex declined further comment. The walk to the infirmary was quiet, apart from the occasional bird calls and the thwacks of the automatic sprinklers as they showered shimmering droplets over the vegetable garden. Despite having clearly slept, Alex's pace ambled along at a disinterested crawl and he yawned a handful of times more.

Nurse Scalia waited for them at the entrance. As they approached, he held open the swinging door for them with a polite smile. "There you are. I'd hoped to catch you before I settled in for the night. How's that injection treating you?"

Alex scowled as Scalia led them into the exam area, separated from the general recovery area by a curtain. Yassen hung back while Alex dropped onto the closest chair, avoiding the exam table altogether. "Sleepy. Numb. Same as yesterday. Can I go now?"

Scalia gave him a small smile. "Almost. I promise I'll be quick. First things first," he said, walking over to the cabinet above his computer. Rifling through it, he pulled out a small orange bottle of round white pills and tossed it to Alex. "Can I trust you to take that at least twice a day on your own?"

Reading the label, Alex groaned. "Lorazepam? You want me to take it regularly?"

Scalia nodded to him. "It's more potent when you combine them with your other medications."

"Great. It wasn't like I wasn't half asleep all of the fucking time already." Alex shifted on his seat.

"Language." Yassen's lips twisted as Alex shot him a look.

"Wait." Alex glanced down at the bottle again. "Don't these carry the risk of dependency? My last doctor told me about it." He held them out to the nurse, shaking the bottle smugly so that the pills rattled within. "Take them back, I can't have these. I'm a drug addict, remember?"

Scalia shook his head, though his smile seemed a little strained as he pulled out a clear bottle and a disposable syringe from a second cabinet. "While there is a real risk of dependency, it's still better than getting stabbed with irregular doses of B-52. Hopefully, the pills will keep that from become a daily ritual. Can I trust you to take it or will we have to make someone else administer it?"

Yassen grimaced slightly, well aware that nurse Scalia's "someone" would be him. Clearly, he'd love nothing better than to start his mornings by forcing tablets down an undersized teenager's throat. The look Alex shot him suggested his thoughts had wandered along the same lines.

He sighed and retracted his arm, cradling the pill bottle against his chest. "Alright, I'll take them. Is that my stupid booster shot?"

Scalia nodded, grabbing Alex's arm and probing for his vein. He tied a stretchy strip of plastic around his arm and tried again. "You're already familiar with it?"

Alex shrugged, wincing as the needle bit into his skin. "I've been taking it for months now, since my appetite comes and goes on these pills. My last doctor explained it. Something about vitamin absorption rates."

"Speaking of your appetite," Scalia said, setting aside the syringe and pressing a cotton ball to the small swell of blood. "How's the nausea?"

"It's been worse." Alex made a face. "Can I go now?"

"Almost. Why don't you grab a bandaid from the front room while I talk to Six. Should be a box of them on the desk." Scalia swiveled on his small rolling stool to face his computer, tapping a few quick notes.

Alex rolled his eyes and pressed the cotton ball to his arm, but didn't argue.

Scalia didn't bother waiting until Alex had gotten out of earshot. He offered Yassen a small sheaf of printed papers. "I've already spoken to the warden about your assignment. Apart from keeping an eye on him, try to keep him physically active and eating. Here's a complete list of his medications, dosages, and what each pill looks like. You don't have to watch him take them, but if you suspect he's skipping doses, let us know which ones he's missed and he'll have to start taking them here or in front of you."

Yassen flipped through the papers, eyebrows raising. Little Alex seemed to be on at least six different things at any given moment, ranging from antipsychotics to sleep aids. Another short list detailed a dozen extra "as needed" medications to tackle the resulting side effects. "Anything in particular I should look out for?"

"That's on the last page," Scalia said, consulting the label on the bottle Alex had just been injected with before adding another note to his file. "Red highlighted symptoms require immediate notification. It's pretty common sense items, stuff like the inability to regulate his body temperature, any sudden muscle spasms, that sort of thing. Symptoms highlighted in yellow are concerning, but can wait an hour or so if it's inconvenient. Just get those looked at within the same day. Green items are bothersome, but don't suggest anything truly amiss. He can ask for something to counter them if they're persistent enough, but he's already been prescribed a few things. Any questions for me?"

Yassen pointed at the page. "Delusional thoughts and interrupted cognition are only yellow?"

Scalia actually scoffed at that. "Compared to the rest of Alex's symptoms and side effects, I was tempted to make those green. You notice anything like that?"

Yassen opened his mouth, tempted to explain Alex's conviction that he was in the afterlife. Footsteps drawing nearer signaled that Alex was returning from the desk and would likely overhear. If Alex had any reason to doubt Yassen's restrictions on what topics they could discuss, he might just test the limits of their so-called "rules" to be certain. He'd need more time to figure out how to approach the topic.

Damn. He shouldn't have been so thoughtless before. Shouldn't have agreed so easily when Alex had prompted him. Even so, the nurse had a point: delusional thinking was one of Alex's more mild concerns. There'd be time to address it down the road, once he'd improved.

"Just suspicions," he said eventually.

Scalia pulled off his blue nitrile gloves and tossed them into the trash with a snap as Alex reentered the room. "Just let me or Dr. Wood know if you notice anything. There's probably not a lot we can do about it just yet. We'll get a baseline for his mental state as well as a full health exam sometime this week. Once that's out of the way, we can consider experimenting with his medications." He turned back to Alex and gestured to the door cheerfully. "All right, you made it. You survived. You're free now."

Yassen noticed the boy tuck away his iPod, even though he'd been gone for less than a minute. What song was less than a minute long?

"That was easy. Pass that along to the warden for me?" Alex asked, earning a chuckle from the nurse as they left the administrative block.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Another Monday, another chapter. So in this latest installment, we focus exclusively on Alex's POV and it gets a bit... intense. I don't really want to leave you guys on that note, especially given how patient you've all been, so I'm going to do a double post. This way, we get some Yassen POV and a bit of optimism. As always, I adore feedback, so let me know if you see any issues, errors, or general confusing bits.

"Do we really have to?" Alex demanded, fidgeting on his perch in the warden's sitting room. The more he stared at the floral patterns, the more he hated them. Something about all the pale pink blossoms and dusty purple blooms reminded him of bruises and other injuries. That, and the neighbor woman who'd babysat him before Jack. She'd been rather fond of floral patterns too. That, and of smacking him with a wooden spoon for misbehaving, or as Ian had called it when Alex had tearfully mentioned it, "home correction". And of reading long, boring passages aloud from the Bible about how much wicked children deserved to be punished. The day Jack had been hired had been to seven-year-old Alex as magical as Christmas. "I really like this idea about watching the telly instead. I really feel good about that in terms of my emotional health. One might say therapeutic."

Briar gave him a crooked grin and a half nod. "I know, I know. Seriously, I also want to get this out of the way. Give me ten minutes again and I promise I'll make it fast."

Alex stared at his feet. "Just don't forget our deal."

"I haven't," she said, shifting in her seat. Alex knew she was on edge, despite all her smiles and laid back phrasing- her stiff back and firm grip on the clipboard confirmed that. "Like I said, once I've got the timeline down, I'll only have to ask you about specific stuff as it comes up. I promise we won't do any stupid ink blot tests or stuff like that."

He grimaced. "Where should I start?"

Briar looked upwards, speaking slow and clearly trying to mind her phrasing. "You mentioned that your guardian's death marked some changes in your symptoms. Tell me about all the things that happened around then. What happened, what you noticed. Anything that might help me narrow down what could have changed in a way that would make them worse."

Alex picked at a loose thread sticking out of the edge of his couch cushion. "I guess… alright. I guess not much actually happened, not compared to other times. I mean, not compared to my other missions. After I flew back from Egypt, I met with Blunt and Jones to be debriefed. It was pretty fast, then they had a doctor take another look at me before they sent me on another mission."

Briar's pencil froze over her page. "The same day?"

Alex shrugged. "Apparently, Scorpia had made some threats. Or what was left of them did. Mrs. Jones figured that hiding me at another school was a great idea, despite the fact that I had just gotten back from another disaster of a mission built around that same idea. Of course, this time she was positive my mission would definitely be light surveillance," Alex actually made air quotes for that part, rolling his eyes. "I guess she was sort of right. No one tried to kill me while I was there."

"Rosethorne Academy," Briar said, consulting a small file at her side. "Right. You were sent there to get information on an opiate dealing ring that was recruiting students directly. I assume that led, at least in part, to your substance abuse issues. Tell me about that."

Alex chewed on his lip for a long second, half tempted to not answer. He grimaced a little as he stretched out on the sofa, already feeling drained. Maybe instead of watching the telly, he'd ask if they could take a nap when they were done. "I hated being there. I was still in shock, I think. Everything felt jarring. I had to meet a bunch of people and try to remember their names and if they were important, try to get back to MI6 with information. It felt like too much, even though I know it was probably some of the easiest stuff I've been asked to do. The point is, even though the work was easy, I started having more obvious hallucinations at that time. Stuff that I knew wasn't there, yet too real to ignore, happening at times other than when I woke up or went to sleep."

Briar paused. "You mean they were exclusively around those times before?"

Alex shrugged. "Mostly. Like nightmares that had spilled over. They were so small before that it was hard to tell. Anyway, the Academy was when I started to see things during the day. Memories."

Briar tapped her pencil against the pad, taking that in. "How long before you started self medicating?"

Something like shame flooded him. Alex stared at his hands. "I thought we agreed not to talk about my drug use."

"Unless it was medically necessary," Briar reminded him. When he said nothing, she sighed. "I'm not going to call it wrong or right. It's always more complicated than that. What I really want to know is when did the hallucinations get so bad that you sought relief and how much you needed to get it."

A lot. He tried not think about how he'd rifled through the desk and drawers when he'd been sent alone to get a bandage at the infirmary the other day. It wasn't like he'd found anything. Not even aspirin. Clearly, Scalia had not sent him out unattended without cause for such confidence.

That didn't mean he needed painkillers. He just wanted them. All the time.

Alex grimaced, still picking at his thread. As much as he hated drugs and hated what they did to people, he couldn't deny his own experiences. The relief it had brought. He scowled down at his knees. Intellectually he still understood the damage they wrought, was still the same boy who had dropped a drug-producing tugboat by a police station with no small amount of righteous indignation. He also knew that he sounded like a fucking druggie when he tried to explain why he needed them now, when he thought about what he had done to get them. How much they had helped. He didn't want to need them, knew that he didn't on some level, and yet he did beyond chemical dependency. It was like he had two separate minds and they both despised each other.

Actually, he mostly just despised himself now.

He took a deep breath. Focused only on the question being asked. "It didn't take long. My roommate, Jean, was part of the opiate operation I was sent to infiltrate-"

"I thought you were surveilling?"

"It's never just surveillance. Read my fucking file," Alex snapped. "Anyway, he noticed that I was having problems adjusting and offered me some of his personal stash. I was supposed to be gaining his trust by posing as a light user anyway and he was really nice about it. I didn't like the way they made me feel. Probably took too much that first time. It helped, though."

Briar paused. "Did they decrease the frequency of the hallucinations?"

Alex sighed. "No…. It made it less stressful to have them, if that makes sense. It wasn't as upsetting when they happened. So long as they didn't get too bad, I could go back to being normal much quicker. Plus, it helped a lot with the pain."

"The pain?" Briar asked.

Alex grimaced. It had to be in her notes, but he supposed he couldn't blame her for not trusting what the other doctors had written. "Yeah. Most of my flashbacks involve pain. I got injured a lot and when I'm hallucinating, it's like it's happening all over again. But longer. All the time."

Briar swallowed, staring at her notes. "And the pills helped with that?"

"Muted it," Alex admitted. "They kind of muted everything. I miss it." He glanced out the window, hunching over his knees. "Everything has gotten so loud again. I can't stand it. The anti-psychotics don't help, they just make me so fucking tired. It's like my head is stuffed with cotton and I can't even keep my eyes open some days. Once we get this timeline of my symptoms done, do you think I can stop taking them? At least some of them?"

"I don't know. I hope so." Briar sighed. "Sorry, kid."

Alex folded his arms and looked away. "Yeah."

"Can you tell me about-?"

"Your ten minutes are up," Alex snapped. It wasn't like he wanted to talk about this anyway. He'd been really clear about that. Why did she have to demand to know so much detail? It probably wouldn't even help him get off the other meds.

Briar hissed through her teeth, bobbing her head apologetically. "It's been five, kiddo."

"I say it's been ten."

"Can we compromise and say it's seven? Just a little bit more today, Alex. This is a lot of good info."

He sucked in another breath, glaring at the wall beyond her shoulder. It housed another- surprise, surprise- seascape painting. He hated it. "Fine," he spat.

Briar studied him for a few seconds, probably wondering where his sudden anger came from. "So you didn't like the way they made you feel that first day. What happened after that?"

Alex rubbed his face with his hands, pressing down just hard enough to help him focus. "I ran through the oxycontin Jean gave me in two days. As much as I hated how fuzzy it made me, it was better than dealing with the new hallucinations sober. At least I was a little bit happy. Jack was burning a lot then. Almost always. Julius kept laughing, especially when I tried to sleep..." Alex trailed off. "Once I ran out, Jean wouldn't give me any more or tell me the name of anyone who would sell me some. It took another week before he'd sell me Percocet, which I rationed more carefully. No more than four pills a day, but it still ran out within the week."

"Yikes. Talk about escalating use. That must have been difficult for you." Briar glanced up from her notes. Her next words were cautious. "Did MI6 know you were using at the time?"

Alex hesitated. "They knew that I was buying the Percocet, but that was for my mission. To gain trust and try to get access to the group. I don't think they knew that I was taking it myself. I dropped a drug factory on a police station once, so I don't think they thought I was the type."

She gave him a wry smile, obviously familiar with the story from his file. "No one checked on you? Not your handler, or…?"

Alex squinted at her. "Handler? No. I was alone. It wasn't really a dangerous mission."

Briar bit her lip, obviously stifling another comment. She shook her head and moved on, widening her eyes slightly. "Alright. So you were taking Percocet. How did the hallucinations respond?"

Alex shrugged. "The same. They were getting worse, but that had nothing to do with the pills. Sometimes I could hear the crocodiles hiss, caught glimpses of them, but I couldn't see them entirely. Julius laughed nearby. Standing in the shower reminded me of waterboarding. I-" he broke off. "It was just a lot of little moments. Little snatches of memory. Just enough to really scare me, but still stuff I could ignore. Mostly."

"How long were you at the academy before you couldn't ignore them?"

"About a month." Alex went back to picking at the threads of the couch. "That's when they started getting violent. Stuff I had to deal with. As in, the crusher made its first appearance. I'd smell smoke, see the flames, feel the heat of the burning building, and the urge to climb into the ceiling sometimes. The headmaster would call me to his office and for some reason I was convinced he was going to surgically remove my eyes and sell them to-" Alex clenched his fists in his jeans.

Briar gave him a minute to get himself under control, looking away uncomfortably. When she spoke, her voice was a strained kind of neutral. "That must have been unbearable. Did you respond physically to these hallucinations?"

Alex winced. "Yeah. It was too hard to just sit there and do nothing. I was still on a mission. I managed to sell all my crazy behavior like I was a bit of a prankster, climbing up into the ceiling tiles to tease my teachers or dodging the headmaster's summons to enjoy the hall pass. That was alright for a while, but the students the opiate ring wanted pushing their product had to be exemplary, above question should they be caught. Soon it was pretty obvious that the people Jean was working for wanted nothing to do with me. I was too much of a risk."

Briar studied her notes. Alex got the impression she wasn't really seeing them. "Okay. You said you couldn't ignore them any more on the pills, but did you continue self medicating anyway?"

"Like I said, they helped with the pain. I switched to fentanyl, hoping that something stronger would get it under control. Don't give me that look. Quarters tablets, I'm not stupid. I didn't like it as much as percocet, but everything was much, much easier to deal with." Alex fidgeted in his seat, guilt and shame curdling in his stomach. It had been a rough time for him. Not only had he been painfully aware that his life was falling to pieces, had known that he hadn't gotten over Jack sudden death, was certain that nothing was okay and never would be, he'd also been sharply reminded that he was failing his mission.

It was supposed to be easy, yet he hadn't made any progress after a month. The whole thing only took two. Apart from MI6's constant demand for updates, Jean had gotten nervous about how quickly he was using, not to mention all of Alex's other erratic behavior. Tried to slow him down, refused to sell to him, was kind about it, even though Alex was by then a guaranteed sale. A genuinely nice person, which really fucked with Alex's idea of what a drug dealer was in the first place. He'd imagined Jean would be like Skoda before he'd arrived. Nothing could have been further from reality.

Alex squirmed again, crossing his arms as though he could shield himself from another flood of shame. He'd preyed on Jean and his kindness. He'd noticed the other boy's blushes when they dressed for class every morning, guessed at his crush. Alex hadn't particularly cared, though that might have been his total lack of interest in anyone for the last several months. The idea still didn't worry him. Pretending to like Jean back just to force him to sell Alex fentanyl? That had been beyond cruel. Beyond what Alex thought himself capable of.

Even if they'd only kissed twice, Alex still felt like a prostitute or some kind of emotional predator. Hopefully Jean was doing better now, not that Alex had been able to bring himself to reach out, not that he'd had a chance. Too much of a coward.

God, Alex really deserved what he'd gotten in hell, hadn't he?

He hurried on, eager to avoid any questions about how he'd gotten the fentanyl. "I only took that stuff for another month. It lasted longer than the percocet and then I was expelled."

Briar consulted her file again. "For climbing a flagpole?"

Alex nodded. "Crocodiles. I outlasted them, at least." He paused. "I think I only got expelled for drawing so much attention to my drug use. It was supposed to be a really prestigious academy, focusing on academic achievement. They did everything in their power to avoid testing me until they wanted me gone. Everyone seemed shocked they did so at all. I think they preferred risking the attention brought on by one bad apple rather than letting me escalate."

Briar sucked in a breath. "And that's when MI6 found out about your hallucinations?"

Alex hesitated, before shrugging, trying to shove away his unease. "Yes and no. I lied about it at first and told them I was just high. Suggested that maybe I'd been discovered and drugged. I didn't want to admit that I was a voluntary user or that I was seeing things. They sent me to St. Dominic's to identify the drug and it was their staff who figured out that I was hallucinating. By my first night, I was in the psych ward on involuntary hold."

Briar stared at her clipboard, mouth working. "That must have been unpleasant, since you seemed to actively dodge treatment. Why didn't you want help for the hallucinations?"

Alex shot her a flat look. "And get MI6 involved? Really? No, thanks." He glowered at the floor. "Look where I am now. Obviously, I was right about how they'd take it."

"Fair enough." Briar clasped her hands in front of her, meeting Alex's eyes for the first time in a good minute. "Why break out of St. Dominic's? From what I understand, they're a nice hospital with a great reputation. Surely you realized MI6 would bring you back as soon as they found you. Were you planning on running away entirely?"

Alex looked away first, picking at his jeans. "I wasn't planning anything. Withdrawal was so awful, I couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. I felt sick. I just knew that I had to get my head on straight, get just one pill, and then I could figure out what I had to do. None of what they did helped the hallucinations go away. So much pain and no one would give me anything to make it stop."

"But you weren't in France anymore. You couldn't get opiates the way you had before, right?"

Alex stiffened. "Our ten minutes is up."

"What made you go to that party? Did Tom Harris-?"

He surged to his feet and shouted, "Our ten minutes are up! I'm done talking!"

Briar froze in her chair, staring up at him with wide eyes. "Whoa. Hey. Why don't you-?"

"No," Alex snarled. He clenched his fists. "I don't want to do anything. Stop asking, I can't even hear myself think. Just shut up."

Briar gestured at the couch. "Okay. Just calm down-"

"Why? You said you weren't going to ask me all these stupid questions about how I felt and why I did things and you've done it anyway. Just shut up!" He was shaking.

When had he started shaking?

Briar held up her hands, voice low and urgent. "Do you want to be sedated? They'll be here in a minute-"

The front door of the villa burst open in the next room. Guards. Alex heard pounding footsteps and squawking radios. He was beyond caring.

"Is everything alright?" Someone called, the footsteps picking up their pace. "We picked up some unusual movement."

"It's fine," Briar called, voice high and thin. "It's just a little mood swing. He's just-"

Alex threw himself back onto the couch. Ripping one of the ugly, rose patterned throw pillows from its spot in the corner, he smashed his face into it and howled into the fabric. Every muscle in his body stood rigid, shaking. After a minute, he flipped over and began slamming the pillow into the couch.

What else could he do? Fury flooded him and he had nowhere to aim it. He just wanted to pummel something but had just enough self-preservation to ensure it wasn't Dr. Wood.

When something pricked his thigh, he swatted at it, feeling hands clamp down on his arms and legs as he did so. They held him firmly in place. He swore and tried to shove them away, buck them off, but it was hopeless. He didn't even get a good look at the guards before the tiredness crept back in, robbing him of the rare electrified energy of anger.

It was all so pointless. Going still, he shut his eyes and waited for the sedatives to pull him away.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Whoops. Promised another chapter then forgot to post it. My bad!

Yassen glanced over at Alex again, struggling to conceal his irritation as he finished his set of pull ups. Dropping down from the bar, he grabbed a free weight from the rack and started on bicep curls. "Five minutes of light walking is all you have in you? Get up."

Alex scowled at him in the mirror, curled up and unmoving on the weight bench nearest to the treadmill Yassen had deposited him on. One arm flung across his face to protect it from the harsh artificial light of the gym. "It's six in the morning. I'm tired."

Probably lingering sedatives from his little fit in therapy the other day. Regardless, the amount of medication Alex was on was unlikely to change any time soon. Unpleasant though it may be, the boy would just have to learn to push through it. Scalia did say he should keep the boy active. "I don't care," he told him. "Get up."

"No." Alex flipped over.

Yassen's grip tightened on the weight. He kept his voice light with a little more effort than usual. "I seem to recall you having greater commitment to your cardio. I suppose I could have saved myself a flash drive if I'd known I only had to wake you before noon to render you immobile."

"Why don't you take haloperidol and stop being such a bastard?" Alex snapped. "Chase it with half a tablet of lorazepam and then tell me about what a lazy piece of shit I am."

"Language, little Alex."

"Fuck off."

Yassen nodded at the treadmill, patience fraying. Smothered the urge to drag the boy off the bench and physically force him back onto the machine. "Get up."

Alex sat up just enough to glare at him from underneath his arm. "I'm too tired. That hasn't changed in the last five seconds."

"Exactly. So get up and do it anyway."

"Aren't you supposed to watch me? Look," he spread his arms. "I'm perfectly still. So easy to watch. Now shut up."

Yassen resumed his workout with a twist of his lips. So that's how it would be. Instead of negotiating with the aspects of his life that he could control, the boy had opted for petty power struggles instead. How disappointingly childish. At any rate, it wasn't his job to force Alex to work out; he doubted the warden would be none to pleased if Yassen physically compelled him to.

Tempting though the idea was.

Alex stayed curled up on the bench for the next forty minutes, only rolling off of it to half-heartedly use the leg press machine after Yassen had finished with it. Even then he seemed cranky and tired, continuing to shelter his face as they left the gym and headed back to the cells. Light sensitivity hadn't been in the pages Scalia had given Yassen but perhaps it was a new, annoying symptom.

He left Alex at his door with stern instructions to shower and get ready for breakfast, earning him a bitten off curse from the boy in response. Returning fifteen minutes later, he rapped on the door impatiently. It eased open, having not properly shut in the first place. From the doorway, Yassen saw Alex standing in his en suite bathroom, face covered by his hands and still dressed in his gym clothes.

Dealing with the stupid child had been so much easier when he could walk away whenever he wanted. Yassen glanced around the hallway. There wasn't even a guard nearby to foist the boy off on.

His patience snapped. "Are you that stubborn, stupid, or lazy? If you can stand, you can shower. Hurry up."

"Just go," Alex snarled without removing his hands. "Have breakfast without me. You don't have to watch me if I stay in my cell like a good little boy so just go away."

"So you'll hide in your room all day?" Yassen titled his head, eyes hard. The warden had been clear about Yassen being the first responder. If Alex didn't come to breakfast, Yassen would have to spend his entire day chained to the accommodations block. He felt a fresh surge of frustration. Was the boy deliberately trying to spite him?

"If I have to."

Yassent felt his entire body tighten. Despite what his profession might imply, he didn't care much for casual or disciplinary violence, especially against children. Despite (or perhaps because of) his upbringing, Yassen had assumed it was a sign of weakness to lash out like that, a symptom of the inability to persuade or negotiate. John had been of a similar mind and had trained Yassen to believe that striking out of anger was rarely correct, be it in combat or outside of it.

Suddenly, Yassen understood his school teachers. He'd give anything to smack the brat upside the head. "Why are you being so difficult?" he snapped.

"I'm sorry." If Alex's hushed apology hadn't clued Yassen in, his slumping shoulders made his shift in attitude unmistakable. When had Alex's voice transitioned from petulantly defiant to miserable? "Just go without me. Please."

What else had he missed? Still standing in the open doorway of Alex's cell, Yassen fixed his gaze on the floor, willing his anger away. He half succeeded, voice steadying. "Tell me what you're hallucinating."

Alex mumbled something ending with "-can deal with it myself."

"Alex." It came out sharper than Yassen would have preferred. "Don't make me guess."

Alex heaved air into his lungs and expelled it in a great rush, wincing as he lowered his hands fractionally. One amber-brown eye peeked at Yassen. "Waterboarding."

Yassen stared. "Waterboarding."

Flinching, Alex raised his hands again to protect his face. "Just the feel of it, not the pain in my lungs or the passing out bit. The texture of the fabric and the wet and the cold settling over my face. The drops sliding down my shirt. Sweating made it worse. I wasn't having trouble breathing so I thought I could just-" He suddenly twisted his head, as though trying to wiggle free of something. "I can't ignore it. I splashed my face a minute ago and it got hard to breathe. I don't want it to get worse. Just go without me. I'll shower when it's passed."

Yassen felt another wave of irritation, this time half aimed at himself. He should have spotted the hallucination sooner. "Take your medicine."

Alex shook his head. "Not until after food. It makes me sick."

"You were going to skip breakfast anyway," Yassen snapped. "Take it now."

"I told you. It doesn't help the-"

His temper flared again. "Do it."

"Okay. Fine. Bloody hell." Alex reached for something past his sink. Pills rattled against plastic before his hands came back into view. He swallowed the handful of odd-shaped tablets dry and made a face, showing Yassen his empty palms. "There."

Crossing his arms, Yassen leaned against the doorway and tried to gather his tattered patience. "Now change clothes and come to breakfast."

"I can't." Alex shoved his hands against his face, smashing them against his nose and mouth as though he could dislodge the phantom sensations. Yassen stiffened, unsure if he should enter the room and intervene. The boy didn't seem to be hurting himself. Yet. "Please just leave me alone. It'll pass. I promise. It's better to just let it go away on its own."

"Which it will do whether or not you get breakfast, correct?" Yassen waited until Alex reluctantly met his eyes for a split second. "Just ignore it. Go on with your day."

Alex dropped his face and howled into his hands. "I tried that! I've really, really tried!"

"Try harder." Yassen grimaced and stepped away from the door. "I'll be back in five minutes. Get changed."

O

Yassen watched Alex vomit into the trash bin of the dining hall with something like defeat.

He should have never taken the warden's deal. On what conceivable plane of reality was Yassen remotely suited for this? Surely they could train one of the guards to sedate a screeching child without causing injury. Surely that was easier. He set his wrists to either side of his breakfast tray, sparing a glance at Alex's hardly-touched one. It was still full, save for the half an omelette Yassen had forced him to eat and which Alex was now loudly expelling from his stomach.

Yassen lacked the temperment for this sort of thing.

Dart dropped his spoon back into his bowl of oats with a wry grimace. The clatter was drowned out by the sound of retching. He stood, abandoning his two tablemates with a polite nod. "Well, that's just about killed my appetite. Enjoy your assignment, Yasha."

"First, no liquor at dinner," Hamad sighed, giving up on his toast. The boy had emptied his stomach, now dry heaving and coughing over the bin. "And now this. Perhaps it will be a good thing for everyone, no? A little diet to keep our appetites in check." He shook his head with a glance at Alex before he stood and left.

Yassen propped his chin in his hand, the only sign he'd allow of the morose turn his thoughts had taken. There were few observers. The dining hall was empty except for himself, Alex, and the kitchen staff. Even they were wincing at the echoes of Alex's nausea.

He felt oddly helpless in a way he hadn't encountered in years. Worse than helpless, he felt like an idiot. Everything he needed had been there: the signs of the hallucination, Alex's warnings about the nausea, the boy's sudden moodiness. Yet Yassen had ignored each and every sign. Not because they didn't make sense, but because he'd let himself get annoyed. With that bitter lense, he'd seen what he'd wanted to see. Alex had seemed petulant and lazy rather than distressed and withdrawn. Instead of asking himself why Alex was unusually difficult, he'd assumed Alex was lashing out to spite Yassen. That despite his exorbitant amount of health problems, Alex had somehow found the energy to be petty.

It rankled. Yassen had been unable to stay objective in the face of the minor tantrums of a mentally ill teen.

Worse than his own ignorance was how personal he'd let it become. He'd allowed himself to be angry and short with Alex over what amounted to very little; to push the child past his clearly stated limits in retaliation over imagined slights. Some part of Yassen had wanted to teach the boy a lesson, had assumed that Alex just wasn't trying hard enough. As if he hadn't watched Alex fight a bull, out-bike a hit crew through the streets of Amsterdam, or crawl his way across a falling plane with head trauma without a single complaint.

His stomach clenched.

Alex had shown more self control this morning than Yassen had. It was unacceptable.

Maybe it would have been different if Alex had told him he was having the hallucination before things escalated. Yassen snorted quietly to himself. That was a pipe dream. The boy seemed painfully aware of the effect his fits had on others, as well as a chip on his shoulder about looking crazy. Yassen couldn't entirely blame him for trying to ignore it, to try to pretend it wasn't happening. It was only what everyone around him had been pushing him to do, after all.

No, the fault lay with Yassen. His mess to fix.

Banishing his self pity, Yassen stood and fetched a water bottle from the small refrigerator at the end of the canteen line. When Alex came up for air, still crouched over the bin, Yassen offered it to him. "How's the waterboarding?"

Alex panted, unscrewing the water bottle clumsily and taking a quick swallow. He pressed the cold plastic against his forehead, shoulders bobbing with his breaths. "That stopped a few minutes ago. I just feel sick now."

"Do you want to go to the infirmary?"

The boy pushed his hair out of his face, shaking his head. "I just want to lie down."

Yassen nodded. "I'll take you back to your-"

"Here's fine," Alex announced, releasing the trash can and falling onto his side. He wiggled slightly against the cold, hard linoleum and shut his eyes.

Yassen stooped over him, grabbing his arm. "You're not passing out, are you?"

"I'm trying to," Alex countered, batting his hand away with all the force of a newborn kitten. He seemed perfectly lucid, if exhausted.

Releasing him, Yassen glanced around. Other than a few odd looks from the kitchen staff, there was no one around to make an issue of it. He looked back down at the boy on the floor. His current position posed no danger to himself. With a small sigh, Yassen sank to the floor next to him, sitting cross legged as he pulled out his Japanese phrasebook. He supposed here was about as good a place to read as the library.

O

Alex lay curled on his side for a good forty five minutes, eyes shut and breathing slow. Eventually his energy returned one trickle at a time. It was dim, but altogether more present than it had been in weeks. His stomach growled, reminding him of this morning's bout of nausea. Grimacing, Alex sat up. "Are you learning Japanese?" he asked, glancing at the title of Yassen's book and then at the empty queue. Maybe he'd chance a bowl of oatmeal later.

Yassen tucked the book away with a short nod. He seemed weary, though Alex allowed himself a small flare of hope when he realized that he'd lost his angry, bitter edge.

Alex rubbed his face and glanced around. "I'm feeling better. Where to next?"

Yassen raised an eyebrow.

"What? You're the one who seems to want to do things," Alex muttered, running a hand through his overgrown hair to push it out of his eyes. Hopefully, Yassen hadn't looked too closely at his vomit. So long as they left quickly, perhaps he wouldn't notice at all. "I don't really care. You pick."

"Eager to nap in new and exotic locations?" Yassen got to his feet and crossed his arms, watching Alex do the same next to him.

"It's a gift," Alex told him, yawning as he followed him to the entrance of the hall. Still achey, still tired, but feeling his energy creep back into him a little bit at a time. At least his eyes didn't feel like constantly shutting anymore. "I'm thinking of writing reviews. I'd give the dining hall two stars."

Yassen didn't even bother to look back at him as he picked a dusty path and began striding down it.

Alex shrugged, hurrying his pace to keep up with Yassen's much longer legs. If anything, he was glad the assassin was half ignoring him. It would be much easier for them both.

He followed Yassen into the small library, ducking his head a little as he met the librarian's eyes over the circulation desk. Heat flared in his cheeks. Perhaps he should apologize to the man for knocking over the shelves the other day? It had been quite a mess. Alex realized with another surge of embarrassment that he didn't know who'd gotten stuck cleaning it up.

Yassen nodded to the man. "Carlos."

"Six," Carlos responded cheerfully. His eyes flickered uneasily towards Alex, who turned pink again. "And Alex. Nice to see you too."

"Hello," Alex said, wincing as he took another look at the section he'd toppled. Everything had been tidied to perfection already, but he hadn't quite realized just how many books were actually on those shelves. Hopefully he hadn't seriously damaged anything. "I'm really sorry about the mess the other day. Do you need help cleaning up?"

Carlos looked faintly startled and the unease left his face. "No, no, that's quite alright. Everything's in order now, so don't worry. Just try not to do it again, Jul-" He caught himself, clearing his throat.

Alex stared at his feet. He'd nearly forgotten who he'd been sent to replace.

That needed to stop. It was clearly part of his punishment.

Yassen seemed unaffected by the sudden tense silence that descended between them. "Do you have the catalogue for me to look through?"

With a swift nod, Carlos plucked a small pamphlet Alex had mistaken for a magazine from a tray on his desk and offered it to Yassen. "That's right. Now, our vendor for new titles uses a point system. We're limited to thirty points a month, so spend them well. I'll put in the order at the end of the week."

Alex raised his eyebrows as Yassen immediately began flicking through the pages even as he walked across the open area to one of the furthest tables. "Why do you get to pick?" Alex asked, trailing after him.

"It's one of my bribes," Yassen told him, dropping into a chair without looking up from his catalogue.

"For looking after me?" He settled into a chair, glancing around. He didn't particularly feel like reading, but maybe he should grab something anyway. Yassen, at any rate, seemed thoroughly engrossed. "If that's all you're getting out of it, I think you got the raw end of that deal."

He sat quietly for about ten minutes before letting his restlessness get the better of him. It wasn't as though he'd find the energy for this kind of wandering every day. Staying carefully in Yassen's line of sight, Alex wandered across the reading area to where two middle eastern men were engaged in a heated game of Scrabble. They paused, mid-squabble over pluralization of "octopus", and regarded them with open curiosity.

He offered a small, tight smile.

The younger of the two men shook his head. "Very well, I will just say it outright. You look a lot like Julius."

Alex grimaced, half wishing he'd chosen to hide in his cell after all. "I know. I'm Alex."

"But you are not identical," the man continued, ignoring the hiss of disapproval his companion made to try and silence him. His own smile was wry when he turned back to Alex. "Your voice is very different and you are much smaller than he was. Do not worry, I imagine the people here will not mistake you two for very long. It is very nice to meet you, Alex. I am Ahmed and this- what is the phrase?- wet blanket?- is Abed."

Abed nodded to him, clearly a touch embarrassed. There was no malice in his tight gaze though. "Yes, very nice to meet you."

"That's very kind of you to say. Thank you." Alex allowed himself to relax as he sat in one of the open chairs at their table to watch. Maybe his punishment wasn't so unbearable after all. Just because he'd been sent to replace Julius didn't mean he'd become the evil boy, or that he couldn't eventually move past their resemblance. Ignoring the phantom sensations of a scaled capace whipping past his leg, he gestured at the game. "Who's winning?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the day late update! As always, would love to hear your thoughts and feedback on the story thus far. Does anything stick out or outright confuse you?

Yassen struggled to keep his face smooth as they continued down the dusty trail that ran between the library and the accommodations block. Head still full of debates of the various pros and cons of a multitude of titles, he'd barely noticed Alex's breathing speed up as they left the building but failed to anticipate the oncoming storm. It was only when Alex froze, stiff as a board, that Yassen realized he was in the throws of another hallucination.

He tucked his catalogue under his arm and shoved his hands in his pockets, forcing his expression to remain mild. "What do you see this time?"

"Crocodiles," Alex ground out, eyes fixed straight ahead as he refused to look down at the empty ground. A shudder worked its way through his bony frame and his eyes fluttered shut in what Yassen guessed was dread.

"How long?" Yassen asked him, glancing around. There was nothing nearby for Alex to leap to, unless you counted the raised flower beds. Such a move would net him maybe a foot of height and a lot of ire from the gardeners.

Alex cracked open an eye, uncertain. Locked firmly in fight or flight, the boy clearly wasn't any more keen on trusting him with the details than he had been this morning. He wrapped his arms around himself, already easing onto his tip toes. "A while."

He'd been right, then; showing Alex his anger and frustration had only increased his reluctance to come forward. That would have to stop.

Yassen nodded. "Alright. What do you need?"

Alex snorted. "A flagpole." The boy paused, brows furrowing. "Actually…." He didn't stick around to finish the thought. With a sudden burst of speed, he darted back towards the library, eschewing the path and swerving onto the soft green grass.

Yassen jogged after him, having already guessed the boy's thoughts. Along the perimeter, he noticed the sudden attention of the patrolling riflemen. Guns raised, but no one fired. A handful of the internal guards shouted, calling out. As Alex bolted around the library, Yassen gave the nearest guard a small wave to signal that he had everything under control.

Alex leapt onto the picnic table, already panting from his short sprint but powered by desperation. With a sharp grunt, he hurled himself at the branches of the olive tree, grasping the lowest branch available and scrambling to find purchase. Groping blindly, his left hand sought out the nearest branch. Unfortunately for Alex, it wasn't particularly thick and snapped as he tried to put his weight on it.

He swung, unable to climb further. "Damn it!"

Brushing away a few fallen olives, Yassen set his catalogue on the table before making his way underneath the branches. Grabbing one of Alex's kicking trainers, he pushed upwards and pointed with his free hand. "There's a thicker one above you. Grab it and use the other to brace."

Alex twisted to look down at him, but did as he was told. Suddenly armed with two feet of extra height, he wrapped his arms around the branch above him and dragged the rest of his body into the branches. Panting as he settled his weight, he began testing the ones around him, obviously planning on going higher.

One of the younger guards caught up to them, calling, "Hey! Get down from there."

"He's fine," Yassen said, returning to the table. A couple quick sweeps rendered the bench olive free. He sat and began browsing the catalogue again, listening to the branches shake and occasionally snap as Alex made his way towards the brilliant blue sky.

"He can't be up there, Six," the guard sputtered as two more of his colleagues arrived, radios crackling with static and updates on Alex's position. "It's against policy-"

"He's fine," Yassen repeated, glancing up with open irritation.

The head guard, Mateo, joined them. He gestured at the boy clawing his way up the tree, reaching into the pouch on his belt and pulling free a familiar looking syringe. "This looks exciting. Any ideas on how to get him down?" he asked, shielding his eyes from the sun.

"He'll come down when his hallucination has passed," Yassen informed him, pulling out his pen and carefully circling a title.

"While I'm sure that's true," Mateo said slowly. "I don't think it's very safe for him to be up there. Those branches aren't that sturdy and he's quite a ways up."

Yassen glanced up to check the boy's progress. Alex had made it nearly fifteen feet off the ground, clinging to largest available branch like a blond monkey. Watching. Waiting to see what happened. Yassen doubted that any of the branches beyond that could support him or else he'd have gone even higher.

He met Mateo's eyes. "I'll take responsibility. If he's not down in half an hour, I'll go up and get him myself."

After a long minute, Mateo shrugged and grabbed his radio, shooting Alex another long look. "If that's how you want to play it. Unless the warden says otherwise, he's your problem."

O

Alex stared at the couch, now completely absent of throw pillows. "Are you joking?"

Briar snorted, shifting in her chair. "I know, right? Because surely the pillows were the real problem." She uncrossed her legs just long enough to grab her notepad. "Maybe the warden's wife took it as a criticism of her interior decorating."

"There are an annoying amount of seascapes," Alex pointed out, sinking onto the couch with a sigh. He hesitated. "Sorry. For yesterday."

Briar waved a hand, giving him a lopsided smile. There was something just a touch cautious about it that made Alex's stomach sink. "Don't worry about it. It's hardly your fault. I pushed you pretty hard."

Alex acknowledged that with a wry tilt of his head. "Everyone seems to be doing that lately. At least you're not alone."

"Oh, really?" Briar raised an eyebrow. When Alex didn't continue, she asked, "How are you and Yasha getting along? You hardly talked about him yesterday so I assumed everything was okay."

"Fine, I guess." Alex shrugged. "He was a bit of a jerk this morning."

Briar's lips tightened. "He's only supposed to mind you and intervene when necessary. If he's overstepping his bounds or making things hard on you, I can talk to the warden."

Alex shook his head and exhaled slowly, scrubbing at his face. As tempting as it was to throw the assassin under the bus, he suspected that Yassen was probably the least offensive out of all available options. "No, he's not. He was just acting like the MI6 doctors this morning, but he stopped. I should be used to it by now. Actually, he's mellowed out more in the last few hours than anyone else I've dealt with in the last month."

"I'm curious," Briar said, leaning forward. The concern hadn't quite faded from her eyes. "What do you mean by he was just acting like everyone else from MI6?"

Alex shrugged, suppressing whatever anxiety threatened to coil in his stomach. "Like I was being a brat for the sake of being a brat. That I wasn't trying." He shook his head again. "I think he figured it out after I threw up."

Briar's eyes were horrified. "Jesus, Alex. What did he do?"

Alex raised his hands. "Nothing! He just made me take my medication before breakfast. I told him it would make me sick, but he probably thought I was just dragging my feet. He's taken me at my word since."

"Since this morning," Briar said, raising an eyebrow and looking thoroughly unconvinced.

Alex picked at the hem of his shirt, staring out at the after noon light streaming in from the windows. If that had been her reaction to finding out he vomited, then she probably wouldn't find much reassurance in Yassen helping him climb a tree. "He's better than the others," he repeated.

He wasn't entirely sure what to make of the sudden change. The assassin had begun as a run of the mill asshole, clearly fed up with Alex's antics, but had steadily improved as the day wore on. By the time Alex had sheepishly dropped onto the picnic table in front of him, Yassen had been resigned but amused. Or at least Alex thought he was. At any rate, the man had simply closed his booklet without comment and suggested they get lunch. Alex appreciated the lack of fanfare.

Briar tapped her pen against the notepad consideringly. "If you say so, kid. Just let me know if things get dicey with him, okay? This arrangement he has with the warden isn't exactly…"

"Official?" Alex suggested after the woman trailed off. He made a face. "I didn't think so. Don't worry about Yasha," he added. "He definitely won't kill me even if you pay him to, so I suppose there's that."

Briar gave him another long look before nodding. "Okay, okay. Well, we'd better get back to that timeline. Tell me about what happened after you escaped from the psyche ward at St. Dominic's."

Alex winced. "Or, here's another idea: we watch some trash TV and think about our feelings."

Briar nodded her her head from side to side, wincing as though wishing she could be convinced. "Or, I don't tattle on you for not telling anyone you vomited up your medication. I take it Yasha didn't catch it, or pretended not to catch it, based on how alert you look?"

Alex flinched.

Briar sighed. "Look, one day won't kill you, but you have to promise me you won't try to get out of taking your meds tomorrow. Even if you don't think they help, it can take weeks for them to start working well enough for us to evaluate. I promise I'll get you off of them if it turns out that they don't do you any proveable good. So, do you promise?"

Alex stared down at his knees and nodded. It had been a small vacation from the tiredness after all. He'd known full well that he wouldn't be able to dodge his medication more than once, after which he'd have it force fed to him. A painful lesson, but one he'd had already.

"Okay, so let's get the rest of the timeline out of the way. Seriously, we're almost done. We might even finish today."

"There's not much to tell," Alex said shortly. "I broke out, I went to the party, everything went sideways, and I killed that agent. My symptoms were the same as at the academy."

Briar nodded gently. "It can be hard to objectively certain of what your symptoms are, Alex. Especially since altered thinking is a consideration." She raised her hands. "Look, you don't have to give me every detail. Really. Just try and clue me in to where your head was at and if anything seemed off."

"If I have to." Alex wrapped his arms around himself. "Breaking out was simple enough. I just knocked out an orderly and stole his badge, uniform, and car keys. Once I made it into the general wing of the hospital, I walked right out with the crowd."

"Simple enough?" Briar squinted at her notes. "I thought you were going through withdrawal."

Alex shrugged. "I'm resourceful. I drove to my best mate Tom's house first, to see if he could help me. He wasn't home, but his new step-mother was and she let me in to wait for him in his room. Kind of the airhead type. Anyway, he doesn't password protect his laptop, so while I borrowed some of his clothes, I looked on his Facebook account and found out about the party. I knew I didn't have long before MI6 sent someone to look for me at his house, so I decided to meet him there."

Briar cleared her throat. "Why did you seek out Tom in the first place? As far as my files indicate, he's far from a drug dealer and you were cruising for a fix. Why him?"

Alex swallowed, looking away. "I'm not sure. I just- I just knew that he would try to help me. No matter what. That he wouldn't just turn around and sell me out. The only person I had left."

"So you arrived at the party. Then what happened?"

"It was packed, put on by some guys a few years higher than ours. Tom must have made new friends while I was away." Alex swallowed. "There was a lot of stuff going on and it was hard to find him. The music was loud, people dancing everywhere, everything stank of beer and popcorn. I knew I didn't have time to waste. There was this grand staircase that overlooked most of the party, so I decided to go to the top and see if I could spot him in the crowd."

"Did you?"

Alex hesitated. "I ran into an old… acquaintance."

Briar's eyes narrowed. "You say that like you're uncertain."

"Well, the last time I had seen him," Alex told her carefully, digging his fingers into his jeans. "I dropped his drug manufacturing boat onto a conference center beside a police station. I wasn't entirely sure we were on speaking terms."

She stiffened in her chair. Alex supposed his file must have neglected that detail, not that MI6 had asked him for much about that portion of the night. They'd been far more concerned with him shooting the agent. "Did he attack you?"

"He started to, but I managed to smooth things over," Alex assured her. He stared down at his lap, twisting his fingers. "Mostly because I needed to make a purchase."

"Ah." Briar nodded to him.

"He wasn't happy about it, but once he realized I was serious, he got a lot more cooperative. Said he didn't have oxy or percocet, but that he could still help me out." Alex fidgeted. "I didn't even check to see how much money was in the orderly's wallet. I just gave him the whole thing and followed him into the loo."

"Why the bathroom?"

Alex winced. "I'd never done heroin before. I didn't know how. He had to prep everything for me and help me get the needle in my arm."

Briar's eyes widened. "And you trusted him?"

"I had no choice!" Alex burst out. "I couldn't find Tom. I didn't have a single pill on me. It was hard enough to function and beggars can't be choosers. Besides, I was careful. I insisted he give me only half of what he'd prepped, in case he thought he could overdose me in revenge for the tugboat thing. I'm not completely daft. At any rate, I don't think the rest of the night is useful to you. I was high. It'll be impossible to tell what I was thinking and what was the heroin."

She crossed her hands together over her knee, entwining fingers. "Let me be the judge of that. Go on. MI6 was on the way. You couldn't find Tom. You were doing heroin in the bathroom with someone who probably wanted you dead. Then what?"

He shifted in his seat, staring at the floor. "I was out of it for awhile. Not passed out exactly. It was like floating on a cloud, feeling warm and happy and safe. Next thing I knew, Tom was shaking me awake in the tub. I don't know how I got there, but I don't remember being worried about it or the fact that I'd thrown up on myself, even though the high was wearing off and I was getting tired. He was scared. Had to pull the needle out of my arm. Kept asking me who he should call." Alex paused, squeezing his eyes shut. "I broke his arm. He was helping me downstairs and I told him that he couldn't call anyone because they'd catch me, that I had to just get in the car I'd stolen and keep going. He wouldn't let me. That's when I started to feel upset about how disoriented I was. Tom tried to take my keys. There was an agent at the front door, directly where we were headed. I panicked and when I took the keys back, I must have gotten the angle wrong-" Alex broke off.

_-Tom's arm popped, crunched, cracked as it broke-_

"Everything seemed to spiral out of control after that. I ran to the back of the house, pushing my way past everyone. It was a dead end. The house had one of those closed in gardens. Concrete everywhere and no way out to the next street, only a side path that led back to the front. There was another agent who'd circled around to cover that exit. He wasn't expecting me and I had Tom's hood pulled up. I knocked the wind out of him, took his gun, and ran back to the front of the house. Everyone got out of my way."

"Why take his gun? You said you didn't have a plan."

"I didn't. I just didn't want to go back to the hospital. Holding the gun made me feel better. Safer." Alex shivered and twisted his hands together. His breathing had sped into rapid pants, but he was determined to finish the fucking timeline. No more questions after this. "The agent at the front of the house raised his gun and I shot him before he could shoot me. I hardly remember what he looked like, just the sound. All the screaming. I dropped the gun and MI6 took me into custody on the porch. That's it, that's the whole story."

"Thank you, Alex," Briar said quietly, gripping her pen so tight that he knuckles turned white. "I know it's hard to talk about. Tomorrow we'll-"

"Tomorrow, we'll do nothing," he spat, struggling to draw in enough air to speak. "My symptoms didn't change. They put me on the anti-psychotics. I kept falling asleep. I'm done talking, so never ask me about it again. Ever."

Briar raised a placating hand. "Okay, okay. Just breathe, Alex. We're done. It's all over."

Julius laughed, around the corner, safety off. Jack, shining with triumph and hope, exploded across the desert while her skeleton sat burning in the driver's seat. Tom's arm popped, cracked, crunched-

"Maybe it is for you." Drawing his feet up on the couch beneath him, he leaned forward onto his knees and shut his eyes. _One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four…._


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost forgot to post this. Silly me. ^^ As always, let me know if you spot anything confusing, erroneous, etc.

Yassen studied his folded newspaper. He'd already finished the Italian crossword and was diligently making his way through the Japanese. The sad fact of the matter was that his vocabulary was still too limited for him to make out more than a quarter of the total words, much less guess at ones less commonly used in day to day speech. He sighed, irritated, as he set it aside. Perhaps he should switch to Sudoku.

Alex spared him a glance, slumped over his own busywork and smearing the table with an errant crayon trapped beneath his forearm. Carlos had recently introduced complex adult coloring pages, claiming that they were supposed to be meditative and help clear the mind. After about five minutes of coloring a paisley patterned elephant, Alex had announced that his mind had been aggressively emptied before putting his head down for a nap.

"Dinner's in a quarter hour," Yassen reminded him. "Don't fall asleep."

Alex rubbed his face and sat up, before peeling a purple crayon off his arm and studying the dent it left on his skin. "How could I possibly sleep with so many thrilling options to spend my time?"

Yassen opened up the Italian paper, skimming a few of the smaller articles. It never hurt to stay sharp. "Learn to keep yourself busy then. You won't find many thrills here unless you like adventure novels," he said, waving a hand at the section of shelves to their left.

Bracing his chin in his hand, Alex leaned against the table. "I can't read those anymore. They get them wrong."

Yassen studied him for a long second. He tended to avoid those types of novels partially for that reason also. The other part was mild disinterest. While Yassen enjoyed aspects of his former employment as a contract killer, he hardly described himself as passionate about his work. He certainly had no wish to read poorly written versions of it. "That they do."

Alex met his eyes, brow scrunching in sudden thought. "Can I ask you something?"

Tempted to say no, Yassen returned to his newspaper and nodded. Something about Alex's tone of voice put him on high alert. They were in his favorite, most private corner of the library. Apart from the usual surveillance, there was no one around to interrupt them.

"Why did you give me the advice you did?" Alex waited a few seconds and, receiving no answer, added, "It seemed to contradict the previous advice."

Yassen took a moment to consider his answer. "Blood loss will do that to you."

Alex's lips twisted. Yassen was unsurprised by his frustration at the evasion. He hadn't aimed for subtlety. "Really? You want me to believe you that even though you thought to keep your voice steady and even, you weren't able to consider what you actually said on Air-"

Yassen gave him a warning look. "Keep it vague, little Alex."

"I am."

"No names or places," Yassen clarified. Given the nature of the prison itself, Yassen suspected that prisoner files focused only on what was relevant for incarceration. For instance, Dart was monitored far more heavily in the woodshop and crafts area, to which he cheerfully admitted was likely due to a work history with explosives. It was difficult to guess just how much information made it over with Alex, but he couldn't assume his own name, or the names of Julia Rothman and Winston Yu, weren't included. Alex might have already exposed him when he asked if they'd be at breakfast a few days ago.

There was nothing to do for it now except err on the side of caution. Unfortunately, that meant that Yassen had very little chance of getting usable information from Alex: names were all that mutually connected them to Scorpia, both on paper and in person. There was nothing Yassen could think of to describe any people or places in a way that Alex would recognize without making it equally obvious for anyone with a cursory familiarity with the organization.

They were both effectively gagged.

Alex drummed his fingers against his lips. "So why the change of advice?"

Yassen grimaced and set aside his newspaper. "You were clearly persistent in your bad choices, despite my advice to the contrary. I simply wanted you to have all the information you could before that decision became permanent, as well as to consider the alternative."

Alex's eyes narrowed. "You thought I'd take the alternative?"

"No." Yassen noted the surprise and odd flicker of guilt sweep across the boy's face. Recalled Alex's suggestion that he'd nearly shot the deputy head of MI6. Tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. "Did you?"

"Almost." It came out a sigh. Alex stared at the floor.

Yassen relaxed. "Lots of people almost take it. It's not the same thing."

Alex shrugged, still looking down.

Yassen considered him. "Did you find the information?"

"I think so." Alex looked up and glanced around. Carlos was reading something at the desk, clearly uninterested in them. "Not all at once, though. You're talking about… " The teen paused, clearly considering his next words when Yassen gave him another warning look.

Yassen sighed and leaned forward, ready to tell him to not bother. While Yassen had told the warden he was a family friend, he'd carefully avoided any distinct relations, not that Alex had many in the first place. If Alex said "his father", "John", or even "Hunter" it could conceivably be in his file that Yassen and John had worked together- at least if Alex's foray into Scorpia had ended back in MI6's arms.

As was quickly becoming a trend, Alex surprised him.

The boy's expression cleared and he drew a line across his throat. "About him," he said.

Startled for just a split second, Yassen quickly recovered. Hazy memories of telling Alex about Hunter saving his life while bleeding out sprang to his mind. He hadn't exactly been lying about the blood loss. As far as he knew, no one at Scorpia had ever been told the story of just how Yassen had gotten that scar. Not by Yassen at least. Most people never even noticed it. He nodded. "Yes. Did it change your mind?"

"At first." Alex hesitated. "Did you know he was…."

Yassen raised an eyebrow, curious to see where Alex was going. Did Yassen know his father was what? Married? A soon-to-be parent? Working for MI6? Shot in the back? Probably that last one if Alex's nervous reluctance suggested anything. Actually, that made a lot of sense: Yassen had diligently spared Alex before over the bond he'd shared with Hunter. If Yassen were to find out years later that he'd been betrayed, it might put Alex and him in a tricky position.

He decided to watch the boy squirm anyway.

"...well, inclined to err on the side of family?" Alex settled on at last.

Yassen snorted. It seemed there was such a thing as too vague. He'd spare the boy the trouble. "I knew who he worked for."

Alex stiffened. "Really? And you didn't…?"

"I saw no reason to say anything," Yassen said, standing and pushing in his chair. Alex followed suit, brows furrowed as he thought that over. "I wasn't interested in causing trouble for him."

"Oh."

Abruptly, Yassen came to a decision. It was unlikely he could glean any real information about the state of Scorpia or it's board members without posing significant risk to himself. While Alex had done a reasonably good job at keeping his questions vague, the more they spoke, the more Yassen realized that eventually someone would be able to string together enough ambiguous statements into a rough timeline. This conversation alone probably wouldn't do it, but combined with Alex's previous slip ups and the uncertainty of who had access to how much information… it was better if they didn't fish for information like this. It was rapidly becoming apparent that the risk was greater than the reward.

Yassen jerked his head at the door. "Come on. Dinner."

As they meandered onto the dirt path, it occured to Yassen that there might be some useful information he could get out of the boy before he cut this off after all. Something without names or places or verifiable events. He turned to Alex. "I have one question for you. After I saw you last, what did they say happened?"

Alex stared at him out of the corner of his eye, thoughts obviously still on John. "To you or to him?"

"To me."

Alex glanced around at the lush green landscaping and pressed his lips together. "The truth, it turns out," he muttered. "Are we still supposed to not talk about it?"

Right. Alex's afterlife hangup. Yassen grimaced, but didn't contradict him. He wasn't entirely surprised that MI6 had covered up his incarceration and interrogation, at least in Alex's case. It was easier for them if he died after Alex passed out. They likely didn't want him asking the exact questions Yassen had wanted him to. He couldn't help the slight smile tugging at his lips. Judging from Alex's hints, MI6 had underestimated them both.

Yassen stopped him outside the dining hall. "One last thing. From now on, we can't talk about any of this, even if it's vague."

Alex's face scrunched, sudden frustration marring it like a thundercloud. Abruptly, it cleared into something like resignation. "Have I not accepted it enough? Is that why I can't ask any more questions? I keep trying and trying, but it's not how I'm wired. I guess that's the point."

Yassen stared at him, fighting the urge to groan aloud. He really shouldn't have gone along with the "being-dead" idea. He was beginning to suspect the number of weird complexes Alex had was only going to increase the longer it went on. "What are you talking about? Accept what?"

"That I'm helpless now," Alex said matter-of-factly, pushing open the door to the dining hall. His shoulders slumped as he took his place in line behind Dart and took a tray. "It's alright. I'm sorry. I'll try harder."

Watching Alex shuffle forward, Yassen found he had nothing to say to that.

O

Dart captured another one of Alex's checker pieces, smirking at him and gesturing at the board. "Told you that you shouldn't have done that. Your move, little monkey."

Alex gave him a half smile, only giving the game the bare minimum attention. Light streamed through the leaves above them, promising an even warmer day to come. Alex slumped a little further over the wooden picnic table, absently watching the two terrorists break into a flurry of spirited Arabic over something in a newspaper. His eyes threatened to shut of their own accord. What time would Yassen's therapy session end? There didn't seem to be any clocks outdoors, though the general Disneyland vibe made him half expect a clock tower to erupt from the perfect grass in the night. The guard assigned to him for the hour, a sour faced man with a nose that had been broken once upon a time, hovered watchfully in the background, leaning against the exterior wall of the library about ten yards away.

So far, having Yassen around constantly had proven… okay. While part of him wanted to resent the man for dragging Alex everywhere, be it the gym or the library or the woodshop, Alex also had to admit that the last several days had passed faster because of it. Yassen seemed to partially acknowledge Alex's constant state of fatigue now, even if he was clearly still trying to keep him distracted and active. The worst of it was Yassen's daily gym habit. He'd accept Alex curling up on a weight bench to sleep without getting annoyed, though he maintained the irritating habit of badering him into working out anyway. Despite Alex's whining and muttered swear words, he persisted in suggesting easier and easier exercises until Alex eventually got off the weight bench just to shut him up.

Alex grimaced, arms still sore from this morning's bout on the rowing machine. What lunatic works out two hours a day?

At least the hallucinations had let up, either from Alex's increased activity or the introduction of the lorazepam. He was still having them, of course; the crocodiles were practically been his roomates at this point and occasionally snapped at his legs whenever they dangled over the edge of his bed. Julius still laughed with his gun held aloft, lurking just around the corner. Jack burned. Once or twice the crusher had made a reappearance for a ten minute stint. As stressful and terrifying as all of those were, at least Yassen wasn't inclined to make an issue of them anymore. If anything, the assassin seemed just as interested as Alex in keeping the guards out of it and had even managed to avoid forcibly sedating him for the past four days.

Scrubbing his hand over his face, Alex yawned and captured one of Dart's pieces, pretending not to see the trap the intelligence agent had so carefully laid with all the cunning of a ten year old. Draping one arm across the table, Alex cradled his head in his elbow and stifled another yawn. With the light dappling across his skin, warming him in patches, he found it harder and harder to fight the urge to curl up and go to sleep.

Dart gleefully took advantage, bouncing his next piece across the board as he captured three of Alex's red pieces in one go. "Shouldn't have done that."

Alex shrugged against the table. "What time is it?"

"What?" Dart snorted and raised an eyebrow while he stacked the spoils of war next to his side of the board. "Missing your shadow already? I didn't realize you were so fond of him. You know that bastard took over library ordering when the warden asked him to watch you? All he wants are these stupid fucking language books. We'll be lucky if we see another Alex Cross novel again."

Alex snorted, jerking his chin at the guard. "He's better than Broke Nose over there."

Dart chuckled. "You mean Gerald? He's alright, when he's not worried that someone will spontaneously climb a tree."

Alex groaned and rubbed his eyes. "You weren't even there. Don't you guys have anything better to do than gossip?"

Dart shrugged and gestured to the board, indicating Alex should take his turn. "Not really. Don't you have anything better to do than climb things, little monkey?"

Rolling his eyes, Alex moved a piece at random. "Point taken."

"Besides, you owe us good gossip. They took the mini-bar out of the dining hall because of you. How else are we going to entertain ourselves?" Dart smiled at him, double jumping the piece Alex had just moved into the line of fire. Alex was down to three pieces. "Don't worry, kid. He won't be long and then Gerald will go back to whatever he does all day."

Alex lifted his head from the table long enough to grimace at the guard. "I'm not worried, I just don't like getting stabbed with needles. Especially by the guards. They're shit at it."

"That does make Yasha sound better," Dart agreed, studying the board. Fuzzy as always, Alex doubted there was any way he could drag the game out by more than a handful of turns. "Like hanging out with a cool uncle, I imagine."

Alex's stomach curdled so abruptly, he twisted in his seat before he could get ahold of himself. He sat upright, expression shuttering into a flat glare. "No. Not like an uncle."

Dart tensed, one hand poised over a piece. He slowly picked it up and made his move, nodding. "Right. I guess he's more like a nanny anyw-"

"No." Alex's lips thinned. Yassen was nothing like Jack.

Dart shrugged. "What would you call it then?"

Alex scowled and stared down at the ground. Minder was slightly better than babysitter, but only one had the connotation right: short-term, wielding borrowed authority, and otherwise compensated for their efforts. "Babysitter," he grumbled.

"Okay then. Babysitter it is. Your turn." Dart nodded at the board.

Tempted to just get up and leave, Alex smacked another random checker to a square without any consideration for strategy. After all, he was just killing time. Technically, he was free to roam, but Alex wasn't eager to invite more than casual disinterest from Broke Nose. Risking that for something as small as a tiff would be more trouble than it was worth. It wasn't like Dart had meant anything by the comment anyway, he'd just been filling Alex's sleepy silence with chatter.

Alex couldn't suppress the sudden antagonism coursing through him. It hadn't abated when Yassen arrived ten minutes later.

The Russian looked bored as he approached, but Alex didn't miss the quick, considering look he gave Dart as soon as he registered them sitting together. Alex was hardly surprised. It was hard to miss the man's tension whenever Alex was left alone with anyone else, though Alex had the impression that other people had a harder time reading the assassin's moods.

Alex tried not to roll his eyes, but instead settled on a scowl as he said goodbye to the intelligence agent. Yassen immediately began heading towards the infirmary, mentioning something about a health panel, but Alex ignored his path and angled towards their cell block.

A hand settled over his shoulder, grip firm but not tight. "The infirmary is this way, little Alex."

A small, rare pulse of anger throbbed in him for the second time that day at the anglicized diminutive. Where did Yassen get off being so familiar with him? They weren't friends. Alex tried to shove it down, missing the numb apathy that had made life bearable until now.

Not like an uncle.

"I'm cold," he snapped. "I want my coat."

"It's a full health panel," the other man reminded him. "You probably won't wear it long."

Alex shook his head and yanked his shoulder free of the loose grip, staring at the ground. Something told him that if he even looked at the assassin, he'd do something he'd regret. He started forward towards the cells again. "I still want it."

A second later, he heard Yassen's footfalls in the grass behind him. "Very well."

The trip to his room was short and uneventful, but Alex felt anxious energy coil in his limbs regardless. He yanked his burnt orange hoodie free of the desk chair where he'd left it and dragged it over his arms. Cloth pulled halfway across his shoulders, he felt a sudden lance of panic and horrific pain-

-burning aviation fuel rained down around him, sluicing down his shoulders and back, catching his hair. Horror. Pain. The Reverend McCain was a burning pillar beside him and Alex was crying out in agony, rolling in the wet grass-

Alex was only distantly aware of ripping off his coat and falling to the floor. His head slammed into the side of his desk as he rolled, fighting to put the flames out. The pain did nothing to clear his head. The fire slid up his back and across his shoulders, sizzling and smarting as he gasped.

"Alex?" Yassen was standing over him, arms halting Alex mid-roll before he could slam his head into the desk again. "What is it?"

The teenager jerked in his hold, slapping at the flames creeping around his shoulders and aiming the occasional jab up at Yassen, who was still restricting his movement. "It burns, it burns. Put it out, put it out, put it out-" he moaned.

Yassen must have got the hint because he quickly stepped away. Alex paid him no mind as he resumed his frantic rolling, sobbing with the memory of pain and panic and fire-

His cotton duvet settled over him.

Alex was startled enough that his movements stalled, seeing nothing but white above him. Quick, efficient hands turned him onto his side through the blanket, patting him down with the fabric as though smothering the imaginary flames.

It was just so strange. The conflicting sensations boggled his senses; everytime Yassen's hands overlapped with the burning fuel, it was like a tiny pinprick of conflicting reality. For that split second his skin felt fine. Unblistered.

Alex ceased his struggling and lay under his duvet for a minute, catching his breath. The worst of the pain ebbed away as Yassen continued to diligently pat his shoulders and back.

Footsteps sounded in the hall outside of his cell. He heard, rather than saw, at least three guards enter through the open door. "Thermal imaging picked up something weird. What's going on here?

"Another hallucination?" a second voice demanded.

Yassen's voice, somewhere near Alex's left shoulder. "That's right."

Taking a deep breath, Alex pulled the duvet down from around his head and sat up in time to see one of the three toss Yassen a B-52 injection from his belt pouch.

Yassen caught it one handed and turned back to him. "Better?"

Alex nodded, face pinched. Small flares of pain worked their way across his back, but they were a lot more muted than before. He could almost ignore it. Almost. "It helped. The worst of the flames are out now."

Blue eyes considered him. "Will you be able to make your appointment?"

If it were between that and being sedated, Alex would grin and bear it. He nodded.

The nearest guard relaxed as he caught the syringe Yassen tossed back. "Well, that'll make my report much easier. Will he need the infirmary?"

"We're headed there," Yassen informed him, rising to his feet and offering Alex a hand.

Alex shucked the blanket off of himself and accepted it, wincing. He pressed his hand to the side of his head as he righted himself. His skull throbbed where he'd slammed it into the compressed wood, a headache winding its way around his temples like a crown of barbed wire, aching with the promise of more pain to come.

"We'll give you an escort if it's still going on," the guard said, jerking a head at Alex. "Come on. Let's go, mate."

Alex followed his escort outside without complaint, leaving his jacket on the bed where he'd flung it. Now that his adrenaline was fading, fatigue settled heavily over him, amplifying the throbbing. Hopefully, Scalia would give him something for the pain.

He glanced behind him as the guards led him down the winding path to the administrative building/infirmary. Yassen raised an eyebrow at him in response, as calm and collected as he always was. Sighing, Alex looked back at the ground in front of him.

The nurses and doctors before prison had firmly refused to indulge his hallucinations. They'd been careful to acknowledge his experiences and avoided minimizing his very real distress, but had never attempted to interact with them outside of calmly explaining to Alex that they weren't actually happening. As if that would help anything. Yassen's play-acting (because, honestly, what else could Alex call it?) hadn't made the hallucination less potent or painful, but it had made Alex feel a little less trapped on the other side of the glass. Maybe that had been the real difference. He had calmed down much faster, anyway.

Alex swallowed, still keeping his eyes on the ground in front of his feet. Why had Yassen done that for him? Had he simply been hoping to speed up the hallucination? Alex didn't think so. It wasn't as if it were Yassen's appointment they were late to. He could have just left Alex rolling on the floor or sedated him when he got the chance, enjoying the rest of his evening in solitude while Alex slept. Instead, he'd made Alex feel better. Coming from anyone else, Alex would have been inclined to call it kindness, but from Yassen….

Alex sighed. He had no idea what to make of the man's actions. It was like being on Air Force One all over again: falling out of the sky, scared out of his mind, and receiving unexpected help he couldn't begin to understand the motivations of despite knowing that it was very, very important that he figure it out soon.

By the time they arrived, only one or two flames arced across his back and Alex was too tired to do much other than twitch his shoulders in attempt to rid himself of the sensation. Dr. Wood and Nurse Scalia greeted them in front of the main entrance, smiles tight with evaluating concern. Clearly his guards had thought to radio ahead or someone at least had thought to alert the two of his delay.

"How you feeling, kiddo?" Briar asked him, shifting on her heels as he approached.

"Better," Alex told her, rubbing his forehead and deciding not to beat around the bush. "Hallucination is almost gone but I have a wicked headache."

Nurse Scalia gestured him into the building as the guards broke away. "I can give you some aspirin for that, but anything stronger might affect the tests we're going to run. You still feeling up to this?"

Not for the first time, Alex missed his oxycontin. "Let's just get it over with."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the late chapter! I've been getting ready to go on vacation and totally spaced posting. Also, I'll be disconnected for another week, so I'm just going to post next week's chapter today as well. As always, let me know if anything seems incorrect, confusing, or just plain poorly written! I love feedback, so don't worry about my feelings and feel free to be as direct as comes naturally to you. Seriously. :)

Yassen followed the small group inside, faintly relieved to see the guards take a different route to the opposite wing of the building. Well aware of the surveillance in the accommodations block, he'd known it was a risk when he'd stooped next to Alex to try smothering the imaginary flames. While physical contact was something he couldn't avoid entirely given Alex's need for restraint, it was also forbidden for an inmate to enter another's cell. He'd hovered at the threshold for a split second before deciding to step in. At any rate, leaving the door open would signal to the thermal imaging cameras that despite Alex's shrieks and wild flailing, he was not, in fact, beating the child.

Not that anyone had any reason to think he would. For the past week, Alex seemed content to let Yassen drag him around the compound at his leisure, albeit with semi-occasional whining. Despite Alex's daily hallucinations, they'd quickly established a peaceful dynamic. Alex was quiet and content to self entertain. Yassen had certainly kept worse company before. The only annoying aspect of seeing to him was Alex's tendency to lie down for sporadic naps regardless of their current location. Yassen had grown weary of peeling him off the library carpet or out from behind a bush. The pointed glances from the guards took second place on his list of annoyances, as though Yassen should be embarrassed for allowing such behavior. What did they honestly expect him to do? Alex wasn't Yassen's misbehaving toddler. He took particular delight in rolling his eyes and leaving Alex where he was for forty minutes at a time.

At least the rest of the prison had grown comfortable with stepping over the child-sized obstacle occasionally found lying in their paths. Alex's sleepy, yet enthusiastic reviews of each spot likely had something to do with it.

Nurse Scalia led them into the curtained-off exam area, pointing Alex towards the table before he could settle into a chair. After rummaging in a drawer for a small package of aspirin which he offered to Alex, he began. "First, we need to get all of your vitals for our baseline. After that, we're going to give you a full physical exam and draw some blood for testing. This should give us a good idea for anything else that needs to be done."

Alex nodded from his perch on the table and yawned. Scalia clamped a small heart rate monitor to his finger and grabbed a blood pressure cuff from off the wall. Listening attentively as the bag hissed, he gave Briar the occasional reading for her to scribble down on a clipboard. After that, Scalia checked his ears and eyes quickly before announcing that everything looked fine.

Yassen felt his mind wander as he leaned against the wall beside the curtain, neither in the makeshift room nor out of it. If Alex hadn't had an episode so recently, he wouldn't have hesitated to pull out his phrasebook for review though he knew the entire book by heart. Hopefully his new books would arrive soon. Instead, he watched as they ushered the teenager onto a small scale in the corner of the room.

"Hmm…" said Scalia as Briar leaned forward to examine the number on the readout. "You're still quite a bit underweight. Keep eating as much as you can stand to. I know the nausea makes it difficult. Let's see if you've grown any since you've arrived."

Alex yawned again as Scalia lined him up against the wall and pulled down the sliding marker.

The nurse made a displeased noise before quickly smiling at the face Alex made. "That growth spurt being a little stubborn, mate? Looks like you're still at 5'3"."

"I haven't grown in a few months," Alex told him flatly, folding his arms as though being personally asked to defend his short stature. "The last doctor said it was probably stress."

Scalia nodded swiftly as Dr. Wood smiled. "Of course, of course. It's a tad unusual, but nothing that a few weeks of eating well shouldn't resolve. At any rate, let's move on. Your file has a litany of old injuries I need to check on and document, so go ahead and get undressed. You can leave your shorts on."

Briar stood and handed Scalia the clipboard. "I'll just grab some coffee."

Scalia flicked a glance at Yassen as she shut the curtain behind him, forcing the Russian man to step inside. Yassen shrugged in response to the look. "Want me to clear the room?" the nurse asked Alex.

Alex pulled his t-shirt off with a wince. "I don't care. Yasha can stay if he wants."

Scalia only showed a minute flicker of surprise as he took in Alex's bare skin. Then again, he'd probably read about most of it in his files on the boy. Halfway through the motion of stepping out, Yassen was unprepared and froze in place.

A smattering of yellow and purple bruises spanned Alex's rib cage, souvenirs from his latest brawl with sedation. Burns slid down his back like long fingers, pink and somehow raw looking despite how relatively healed they were. Yassen could only imagine that rolling around on the floor hadn't done them any favors. The bullet wound over the boy's heart was probably the most startling of the scars; nothing short of a statistical miracle could mirror a sniper's precision that closely, leaving no doubt in Yassen's mind as to how he'd received it.

Yassen folded stiff arms, aborting his move to leave. Just how much of this had to do with his blood-loss inspired advice for the child to seek out Scorpia? Alex had mentioned being shot, but Yassen had assumed it had been in the heat of combat in a failure to dodge or find cover. What had the boy done that was serious enough to warrant a formal assassination attempt?

Scalia snagged a small digital camera from beside his computer. "Mind if I get a few pictures of your burns? Those look a little irritated."

Alex shrugged, barely moving his shoulders. He turned around and rubbed his eyes. "Go ahead."

Scalia snapped a few quick pictures, consulting the digital screen each time to ensure the quality was passable, before plugging it directly into the computer. Returning to the exam table, he quickly ran through the basics of his physical examination, noting all new injuries and probing potential problem areas with his hands. "Go ahead and get dressed," he said at last, calling Dr. Wood back in as soon as the boy covered himself.

Yassen wondered why she was even here in the first place. She didn't have a medical degree. Part of him even doubted she even had a psychological one.

Alex yawned as she reentered and set down her coffee. "Are we done yet?"

"We just need to draw some blood," Scalia told him, handing Briar the clipboard again before pulling a blood draw set along with a few empty tubes from the drawer closest to him. He scooted his rolling stool over to Alex and began prepping his arm with alcohol wipes. "In the meantime, I've got a couple of quick questions to help us narrow down where to start looking for the cause of your hallucinations. Ready?"

"Sure," Alex said, wincing as the needle slid in.

Scalia nodded. "Is there any history of mental illness in your family?"

"Not that I know of," Alex sighed, glancing away from the sight of his blood welling into the small tube.

"Have you ever been diagnosed with any mental illnesses?"

Alex lips quirked. "Plenty, in the last month or so. None before then, though."

"Which ones?"

The boy held up the fingers on his unencumbered arm, listing them off. "Anxiety, depression, and PTSD are the big ones. Those I've had since right after I started working for MI6. One doctor thought I might have schizophrenia."

"Have you or do you currently abuse any controlled substances?"

Alex raised his eyebrows. "That's a tough trick to pull off in prison. Someone must be holding out on me. Does anyone ever say yes?"

Scalia gave him a flat look. "And in the past?"

The boy sighed and hunched in on himself. "Only for about two months. Not long enough to do serious damage."

"Which substances?" Scalia replaced the full tube with an empty one, before moving quickly to label it.

"Prescription opioids, mostly," Alex said, staring at the floor. "Weed, once in a while. Sometimes alcohol."

"How frequently and how much?"

Alex scowled. "I'm not a drug addict."

"That's not what I'm asking, Alex."

"I don't even like being high," he said, but it came out a whine. He took a deep breath and started reciting something he'd obviously had to go through before. "The first week, I only took about six pills. Oxycontin. Two the first day, then the rest the next. The second week I got ahold of some percocet, which I took three or four times a day for the next few weeks whenever I could get any. I tried fentanyl maybe a month later but I didn't like it, so I only did quarter tablets until I failed my mission at the boarding school. I don't remember the exact dosages so don't ask. I didn't smoke and drink that often. Once a week at most. I couldn't risk the smell."

Yassen cleared his throat, having not forgotten his first lunch with Alex. "Forgetting anything, little Alex?"

Alex glanced away, scowling at the floor. "I only tried heroin the one time. I'm not stupid."

Scalia sighed and capped the next tube, replacing it quickly. "Okay, okay. Moving on. Any problems with your vision?"

Alex kicked his feet against the exam table, clearly fed up. "None. I'm 20/20."

"When was the last time you had a vision test?" Briar asked suddenly, flipping back a few pages. "I don't see any record of one recently."

Alex shrugged.

Scalia glanced at Dr. Wood but said nothing about the interruption. "Have you ever had a seizure? Does anyone in your family ever reported a history of seizures?"

"No," Alex said. "And I don't know."

"What about any recent or past head injuries?" Scalia asked, grabbing a cotton ball. He pressed it against the needle, withdrawing it sharply from Alex's arm.

Alex watched him tape down the cotton with something like disbelief. "Are you joking?"

Scalia blinked. "Not at all."

"Have you even read my file? Like, even a third of it? I've been knocked over the head at least twice a month since MI6 decided blackmailing me was more important than preserving my brain cells. I can't remember how many concussions I've had and that's not counting what I've gotten playing football." Alex grimaced and tucked his arm back against his chest, looking around the room. "How many more questions?"

Yassen's eyes narrowed. Blackmail?

It made too much sense. No wonder Alex hadn't gotten out of the spy world after Yassen had done his level best to turn him off to it, up to and including tossing him into an active bull fight. Alex's persistence, regardless of his obvious fears. His animosity towards MI6 now. The lack of proper equipment or support in both Amsterdam and his little confrontation with Cray.

Yassen was such an idiot. Of course MI6 wouldn't count on the commitments of even the most enthusiastically patriotic teen. "Long term risk assessment" to a fourteen year old meant two weeks.

The assassin had to fight to not bury his face in his hands. How naive he'd been to assume otherwise, fifteen years into his career.

Scalia yanked off his gloves, stretched them taut, and aimed before releasing them with a sharp snap. They impacted the wall and tumbled into the bin below. "None. We should have everything we need to run some basic tests, as well as make plans to run a few others." He hesitated. "The first few will only take about twenty minutes. If you can, I'd like you to stick around until then. If anything flags positive, I'd rather address it before you go."

Alex glanced at Yassen, who shrugged. He sighed and laid back on the exam table, pulling his iPod from his jeans pocket. "Do whatever. I'm going to take a nap."

O

The lab was further into the administrative block than Alex had ever been. Shifting his iPod subtly in his hand, he cursed under his breath as he tried to track the sound of Briar's heels tapping against the infirmary tile. Yassen watched him out of the corner of his eye, so Alex rolled over completely and shut his eyes, pretending to struggle to get comfortable on the short exam table. Fortunately, he didn't have to act much before he zeroed in on them.

His iPod picked up the sound of a door swinging open and shut. Chairs scraped against the tile, wheels rattling. Some kind of cart?

Keys on a keyboard clacking followed by soft electronic beeps.

"Well, now we just have to let the machine do the work," Scalia said. More keys clattering. "And plan the next series of tests. I think I'm going to have to put in requests to have Alex tested at some nearby military facilities. They've got the equipment we don't."

"I don't understand," Briar burst out. She sounded like she'd been waiting for the first chance to speak. "I've been doing research- tons of research- on visual hallucinations and schizophrenia. Nothing in his medical file says he's had any real testing, despite the fact that there are dozens of potential physical causes for his condition other than schizophrenia."

Scalia's voice lowered. "I know. That's been bothering me too. Okay, maybe he hasn't reported any vision problems recently. That rules out the rarer visual cortex issues, sure, fine, but how hard is it to give the kid a bloody eye exam to be certain? His file backs up the claim that he's had at least a handful of traumatic head injuries in the last year. That's a massive red flag if I've ever seen one, but apart from the initial treatment, there's no records of any follow up MRIs or EEGs. Even if his condition is probably schizophrenia, why haven't they at least double checked?"

"That's just it," Briar muttered. "I don't think it is schizophrenia. It doesn't fit."

"What do you mean?" A chair rolling. The clicking of a computer mouse. "Traumatic experiences and prolonged stress are part of its presentation, right? All of his symptoms fit the requirements, so far as I can tell. I know he's on the young side, but he's within a few years of it's typical diagnosis."

"Yeah, but that's just it. It's like it could almost fit, but doesn't. Plenty of his symptoms match the criteria, but the timing doesn't work out. Look-" The sound of heels, more clicking. "His anxiety and PTSD symptoms span back to the time he got involved with MI6 over a year ago. His hallucinations must have been so mild he didn't even notice them, if they were even present five months ago, and they only started after he'd already been on a handful of missions. Are you telling me that after having normal stress responses to extremely threatening situations for an entire year, he suddenly develops schizophrenia over the course of what? One month? Two? During what arguably counts as his least stressful mission, no less. Why would it suddenly onset this severely, at such a strange time, without any warning?"

Scalia hummed. "His guardian died recently, didn't she?"

"But his uncle died months before. Why not then?" Briar's heels pacing. "As far as I can tell, he's for sure got PTSD and anxiety, probably even depression, but I can't confidently say he's schizophrenic. His hallucinations almost seem unrelated to his experiences as both a spy and a normal kid."

Scalia fell quiet. For a split second, Alex was afraid he lost the connection and fumbled with his iPod.

The nurse spoke slowly. "To be fair, apart from the hallucinations, there are other explanations for his symptoms. His aggression, mood swings, and cognitive disconnect could be the side effects of his antipsychotics. It looks as though his initial care leaned on medication early and hard, so it's like we're playing catch up with a bunch of symptoms we might not even know the extent of. Yasha also implied that Alex has shown signs of delusional thinking. I bet that'll be just as hard to put on a timeline and that's not even touching whatever lingering effects have carried over from his opiate withdrawal."

"It didn't actually sound like he used that heavily," Briar muttered. "It seemed… careful."

There was a disbelieving snort. "Even without accounting for his dosage, at his size he used plenty even if you ignore the heroin. No matter how controlled he seems to have kept his dosages, the fact that he made it to fentanyl alone is terrifying."

"If the shift in his mental state was so sudden that he developed such a severe chemical dependency, then why hasn't he been tested more thoroughly?" Briar demanded. "I'm not even properly licensed to treat him and I noticed the discrepancies in his medical history. Why didn't MI6?"

It was quiet, apart from the steady hum of machines. Alex held his breath.

Briar spoke up again. "Are there any other physical ailments that could account for the hallucinations? I feel like those are the sticking point here. Alex starts hallucinating his PTSD flashbacks and tries to self-medicate. Untreated, he escalates to violent fits and a drug problem. Everything about his condition makes sense until then. What's causing them?"

Scalia blew out his lips. "Without more tests, your guess is as good as mine. Brain damage or a tumor is at the top of my list if we cross off schizophrenia, but it's hard to say for sure." A sigh, the rolling wheels of his chair. "He's just in such poor health already. As far as I can tell, MI6 gave him medical treatment only in response to his missions and only the bare minimum before sending him back out."

"Yeah," Briar muttered. "No wonder he's so stressed he can't physically grow."

A louder sigh this time, followed by a soft cracking, as though Scalia was rolling out his shoulders. "That shouldn't be possible, by the way. To not grow a single centimeter in over six months. Not at his age. Psychosocial dwarfism seems like such a long shot, but I can't think of any medical disorders that account for it. He's already started puberty, so it's unlikely to be a failure of his pituitary gland. It's got to be neurological on some level if not even his booster shots are helping."

"Those are weird too," Briar said. "Why are they mandatory? Why has MI6, who has shown only a passing amount of concern for Alex's health, suddenly decided he absolutely must get his vitamins and minerals even if they have to send it themselves? Why do they need you to send back the needles you use?"

A machine beeped, ceasing it's whirring.

Everything was silent.

Briar spoke again. "Look, I've got a theory. It's a crazy one, so just humor me for a sec?"

Scalia groaned. "I don't think it can be any crazier than this case, so go ahead. Release the unicorns."

A shaky laugh. "Thanks, buddy. Shall I hold the mermaids for later?"

A scoff. "Save those for special occasions. What's your theory?"

Alex rolled his eyes. They think they're so clever.

Briar took a deep breath. "I think there's something bad in those shots. Hear me out. They're either hiding something or they are something worth hiding. Maybe they're liquid crazy, meant to keep him from testifying about his time as a spy. Maybe they're some sort of super soldier compound that failed to make him better at missions or whatever. Maybe they're full of puppy dreams and starlight. The point is, I think there's something seriously fucked up about them and I'm almost positive we won't be able to interpret everything in those blood tests."

"I'm not sure I'd go that far, but they worry me too. Especially given his other care instructions." Sclaia sucked air through his teeth, typing again. Everything was quiet, apart from a few clicks. "You're right. Results are done. There's one or two weird spikes here I can't identify."

"What other care instructions?"

A small hesitation. "The haloperidol and lorazepam, for one."

Briar took in a slow breath. "What do you mean? I looked them up. They're antipsychotics."

"It's not that they're inappropriate, necessarily, it's just that when you compare it with everything else… it's a little weird. Most psyche wards don't jump straight to these meds anymore, even when the patient has violent outbursts like Alex's." Another pause, pregnant. "There are newer, safer drugs that don't have as many sedative-like effects. After all, the patient can't participate in treatment if they're barely awake. It's like they're more concerned with keeping him half-asleep than addressing the problem. It's not exactly a red flag, since he did kill an agent and this is a long-term facility, but it still strikes me as odd since the warden says they want updates on his condition. You think they would have at least tried some less severe medications at least once, if only to see if they were more effective at suppressing the hallucinations."

Heels pacing again. "This whole thing is weird. I don't like it. Something's going on."

"Same." The rolling chair rattled, footsteps, a sheet tearing. A door being pushed open. "And now I've got to tell the poor kid I still don't know what's wrong with him. Did you bring the notes from-"

Alex tucked the iPod neatly against his side, keeping his eyes tightly shut. His head buzzed, replaying the conversation over and over again, his brain only barely able to keep up under the pounding onslaught of his returning headache. That aspirin sure hadn't lasted long. Forget his oxycontin, he would have settled for Percocet. Nice, reliable Percocet.

What the hell was MI6 up to? His hallucinations, the timing of his symptoms, the stupid booster shot-

He chewed on his lip, feeling a sudden stab of fear. Maybe this was part of his punishment? He'd always despised the way MI6 manipulated and lied to him and put him in danger without telling him. Why should he be free of that bullshit in hell? Wouldn't it be far more cruel to put him back in that same spot, over and over again, trapped trying to solve an almost mission-like mystery when there was nothing he could do about it anyway?

Tears pricked at the back of his eyeballs. Wasn't his punishment ever enough? Did it have to keep getting worse and worse?

A hand touched his elbow. "Are you having a nightmare or a hallucination?" Yassen asked him.

Alex opened his eyes. He'd forgotten the man was still there; Yassen must have seen his face crumple because Alex hadn't thought to conceal it. "Neither. I can't sleep because of my headache."

Yassen stepped back. "Don't listen to music then."

Alex scowled. Yassen's tone bordered on scolding with a regularity Alex was growing to dread. He'd even given him shit yesterday for not finishing his potatoes. Alex had felt less nagged as a child when Jack would insist he finish his vegetables before dessert. "Helps me sleep," he muttered, sitting up.

Yassen shifted against the wall before looking at the clock. "I think you have a few more minutes to rest if you'd like to-"

Footsteps sounded in the hall. Yassen turned his head, and must have spotted the two returning a split second before Alex had heard them. He turned back to Alex, giving him a considering look, but Alex pretended not to notice as he tucked away his iPod.

Just because he'd sat up right then didn't mean Alex knew they were on their way back, Alex reassured himself. Yassen would think it was because he'd talked to him and woken him up. Right?

Scalia pushed back the curtain, smiling. "Well, good news and bad news. The good news is that no major health problems showed up in our initial scans that we don't already know about. The bad news is that we need to run more tests, but that will probably take a while to arrange, so you got off lucky tonight."

Alex shrugged and rubbed his face again. His weariness wasn't even an act. "Whatever. Can I have more aspirin? Something stronger?"

"Other than just generally not eating enough, it seems you're a little low on vitamin D," Scalia continued, consulting his printout and handing Alex another packet of aspirin-based pain reliever without pause. "So try and catch a little more sunshine, okay, Alex?" He smiled and nudged his shoulder.

He couldn't help it. While part of him resolved to ignore whatever mystery-bait hell had seen fit to throw at him now, this was just too personal to avoid poking. Just a little bit. That was probably the idea. Alex's greatest weakness had always been never leaving things alone, after all.

He raised his eyebrows in a look of mild surprise. "Isn't my booster shot supposed to take care of that for me?"

Scalia and Briar both paused, but Scalia recovered quickly. He gave Alex a disapproving look and a wagging finger. "It can help, but it can't do everything. Don't take those injections as an excuse not to look after your health. Get lots of sun, food, and exercise, you hear?"

Alex grimaced and slid off of the table. "Do I have to?"


	13. Chapter 13

Toweling off his hair, Yassen quickly dressed himself in clean clothes before making his way back to Alex's cell. With any luck, the boy wouldn't have put off his post-workout shower in favor of crawling back into bed. Alex had been sleepy, as usual, when he'd been woken at four thirty in the morning, though at least this time when Yassen had heckled him onto the leg press machine he hadn't fallen asleep in place. If Yassen's luck held, he could arrive at the dining hall before most of the other inmates poked their heads out for a late breakfast.

He rapped on the door. "Alex? Breakfast."

No response. Yassen listened carefully for a second before he heard a strangely familiar series of thuds. Swiftly, he opened the door and stepped in. The guards could throw him in punishment block if they really wanted, but Yassen wasn't going to risk the stupid boy giving himself another head injury.

As suspected, Alex rolled around on the floor in his workout clothes, slapping at his shoulders in agony. At least he wasn't slamming his head into the desk this time, having dropped between his bed and the bathroom door by some stroke of fortune.

"Put it out, put it out, put it out…" he moaned, as soon as he saw Yassen in his peripheral vision.

Yassen was already reaching for the duvet. He tossed it over the flailing teenager the same way he had before, stooping to carefully pat him down. Perhaps one positive side-effect of staying in the room for Alex's exam yesterday was seeing the creeping burns across his shoulders: the focal point of the flashbacks causing this particular hallucination. Consulting his mental map, he concentrated his palms on those spots, careful to spread out the impact to avoid irritating the skin further.

Alex calmed quickly. After another few seconds of Yassen playing "smother the fire" on the now prone teen, he rolled onto his stomach to allow for better access to his back.

Yassen grimaced, a touch annoyed as he batted at the boy. This was life now. This was how his mornings began. Him, a world class assassin with a two year wait list for his services. Instead of receiving a steady stream of assignments and traveling the world at a moment's notice, he got to babysit a traumatized overactive imagination. He'd never spend an entire day alone again, at least not for the foreseeable future. His only saving grace was that Alex slept eight hours a night while Yassen stuck to his usual four.

Well, four and a half now.

He smothered a sigh, reminding himself that he'd promised to look after the boy. It was the honorable thing to do, not just because John had done so much for him. He'd given the warden his word. Yassen just had to treat this like an assignment. Allowing the hallucination to continue simply increased the odds that Alex would injure himself. If this was what it took to quell the illusion, then it was just something that had to be done and the sooner the better.

A minute or so later, Alex rolled over and sat up, pulling the blanket up and around him. "They're mostly gone," he told Yassen, head bowed. "Thanks."

Yassen raised an eyebrow. "Does it actually help?" he asked, still irritated.

Alex made a face. "A little. It's like scratching a mosquito bite. It doesn't fix the problem, but for a second it's absolutely worth it."

Yassen nodded and sat back to rest against the side of Alex's bed. He'd just have to settle for that. At least he felt slightly ridiculous for a purpose. "They come in batches, don't they? The same hallucinations, over and over again until the next one takes its place. That's why the crocodiles aren't bothering you right now."

Alex nodded, looking like a melting vanilla ice cream cone swaddled in his duvet as he was. "Yeah, but not exclusively. I'll probably be on fire for the next few days, among a few other things." He sat back against the door frame, blinking sleepily at the light streaming in from his barred window. "I'm glad it was mostly the crocodiles and the crusher at the boarding school. Part of my cover was a drug addict, so everyone just thought I was having a bad trip. Didn't help my mission though: I was supposed to pose as a light user they could trust as an errand boy, but I'm pretty sure I looked unstable."

Yassen frowned, deciding not to even contemplate MI6's utter lack of wisdom when it came to Alex's assignments today. "Did these episodes interfere seriously with your studies?"

Alex scowled. "You keep asking that. What do you think?"

Yassen watched him scrub at his eyes. "And did you make any plans to catch up? Arrange for a tutor or extra work?"

"What's the point? I'd already missed most of the school year because of my missions. Then I started having these. It was just icing on the cake. Not that I ever had the time to catch up between missions before." Alex sat upright and stared angrily at his lap. "Besides, it's not like they have GCSEs in hell."

Yassen's eyebrows drew sharply together as he leaned forward and grabbed his shoulder. "Alex-"

"They don't, do they? I can't-" Alex looked back up at him, swallowing, eyes shining with tears.

Fits, Yassen could handle. Violence, Yassen could handle. Tears, he could not.

Yassen's mind slammed to a halt. He yanked the blanket down over Alex's face.

The silence deafened him. Dread uncoiled and reared its ugly head in the pit of his stomach. Chert.

Alex's shoulders began to shake.

Yassen stared at the trembling surface of the duvet in horror, calling himself an idiot in every language he knew. Alex clearly hated being vulnerable as much as Yassen did. Responding to his distress with immediate rejection was probably the worst option possible to give a traumatized kid with an already questionable hold on reality. Trying to deal with it by physically concealing his face was damn near infantile.

But what could he have done better?

He couldn't even imagine the answer. Yassen hadn't been emotionally available to himself since he was nineteen; how in the hell was he supposed to comfort a psychologically fragile teen?

Alex was still shaking, only now a small, soft sound emanated from underneath the fabric.

Yassen cringed, frozen with his arms raised on either side of Alex's head.

Great. Now the boy was actively sobbing.

An identifiable giggle erupted, halting Yassen's thoughts in their tracks.

Alex shoved back the blanket to expose his flushed face, shaking with mirth. "Your face!" he crowed, struggling to catch his breath in between bouts. "You should have seen your face!"

Yassen scowled and folded his arms, whatever relief at having not emotionally damaged the brat further washing away under a flood of embarrassment. Unwilling to admit, even for a second, that it had been funny. A world-class assassin, Scorpia's top earner for a decade plus, hiding in terror from a crying teenager.

There was no denying it: he was going soft.

"Oh, don't give me that look," Alex told him, once he'd caught his breath and extracted himself from the fabric. His hair was a tangled, sweaty mess. "It was just a little mood swing. I have them all the time, I just don't say anything."

Boots sounded in the hallway. The calvary- ten minutes late this time.

Yassen stood, dragging Alex to his feet by his arms before propelling him towards the bathroom. "Just go shower already. I'll deal with the guards."

O

Alex dug into his fruit and oatmeal with gusto, much to his own surprise. The usual nausea that accompanied food with too much texture or smell was absent today and in its place Alex realized that he was starving. Maybe there was something about this particular dish? The blackberries and raspberries were sweet and tart, the oatmeal balanced with the perfect amount of brown sugar. Not too sweet but not too starchy either. He'd ate thoughtfully, swirling the flavors on his tongue. Straightforward as ever but somehow more delicious. Mouthful after mouthful disappeared without any resistance and after his spoon had clanked against the bottom of the bowl, he decided to go back for seconds.

Even his bone-numbing fatigue had lessened just enough to make a meaningful difference. If anyone asked, Alex would have merely described himself as tired. His normal fuzzy thinking no longer felt hostile or debilitating; instead, it gave him a pleasant sort of lightness that he didn't particularly care to examine.

It was a good day, he decided. His first in a long time.

Yassen watched him over the rim of his bottle of juice. He seemed pleased as Alex returned to the table with his tray full of scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast, or at least as pleased as Yassen ever looked. A slightly more relaxed neutral, Alex supposed he'd call it.

His mind cast back to the blue-eyed man's face drawn lines of surprised, panicked horror this morning and he chuckled. He didn't care if Yassen disagreed, it had been hilarious.

Yassen scowled into his juice, but said nothing.

Maybe Alex didn't feel amazing, but he felt okay. His first okay day in a long time.

It lasted until mid-morning.

They sat outside on the wooden sun chairs at Yassen's insistence, seemingly determined to follow Scalia's orders to seek sunshine and fresh air to the letter. Light streamed across them, carrying the strong scent of freshly cut grass in it's eddies, reminding Alex vaguely of a park he'd often walk to in Chelsea. Yassen reclined in the chair beside him, absorbed in a recently arrived language textbook that looked profoundly dry and boring to Alex's eyes. Alex himself had selected the most recent edition a sports magazine.

One minute, he was happily perusing an article on the latest official rule change to the international football league and the next, he was curling into his chair while Julius laughed, running just ahead of him through the streets of Cairo with his gun, water pouring down around him, and Jack burned-

His breathing sped up, chest locking. The magazine wrinkled under his clenched fists as he twisted it in time, fighting to control his breath.

One, two, three, four…. One, two, three, four…

A small thud reached his ears as Yassen set down his tome. "Panic attack or hallucination?"

"Both," Alex grit out as his breathing began to level, trying to ignore the sense of loss as the last of his okayness faded. He failed.

"Which one is it this time?" The Russian gave him a long minute to answer. When he didn't, he probed carefully, "The crusher?"

"Julius," Alex mumbled, dragging a tired hand across his face. "Jack's burning. She's always burning."

"Your housekeeper?"

A gentle breeze tittered through the nearby cypress trees, rustling boughs and flowerbeds alike. Alex wrapped his arms around his knees, feeling tears prick at his eyes for the second time that day. He swiped at them impatiently; it was his own damn fault he was in this mess and as funny as it would be to watch Yassen panic at the sight of him again, he didn't want to deal with it right now.

"Sorry, I- everything was fine for a bit there. I felt okay." Alex prodded the wood with his toe, not looking up. "I shouldn't have forgotten that I'm being punished."

"For killing an agent?" Yassen asked, voice careful.

Alex blinked. "Him too, I guess."

Yassen sighed. Alex heard the chair creak as Yassen sat upright. "How many others, little Alex?" he asked, voice more tired and soft than Alex had ever heard it. Well, apart from when he'd been bleeding out on a plane.

"How long do you got?" Alex scoffed into his knees. He shook his head. "Directly it's just Julius and that agent. The rest are still my fault. You don't have to pull the trigger to still be a killer."

"You've killed, Alex, but you're not a killer," Yassen told him.

Alex glowered at the man. "Yes, I am. They died. I did it."

"Unless you can put a gun to someone's temple and pull the trigger in cold blood, you're not a killer. You have to take some kind of satisfaction in it or at least have no objection. No regret. The rest is circumstance."

"I was satisfied," Alex admitted, setting his jaw. "Numb and angry, but also happy to know Julius was gone. That Jack was avenged. Murdery enough for you?"

Yassen's response was slow. "Believe it or not, it's not the same thing."

"Who made you the expert?"

"Years of experience."

"Shut up," Alex snapped. "If you're right, then why did I end up in hell?"

Yassen opened his mouth to counter, but Alex beat him to it, voice dropping to a snarl as he coiled on the chair. "If you're right and I'm not a murderer, then why aren't I with my parents? They sat with me on the pavement when the sniper shot me, so why haven't they come? Why hasn't Jack? It's because I'm in hell, Yassen, and the worst thing I ever did was kill. Don't try and convince me otherwise. I know what I am."

Alex watched Yassen flinch at the use of his real name, but Alex was past caring.

Fuck him. It wasn't for Yassen to decide who or what he was. No one got to decide who they were. They just were and got stuck with whatever legacy they got.

Yassen leaned across the chair and grabbed his arm. "Really, little Alex? That makes no sense. Do you think John never killed? He was a good man, sure, but why isn't he here too to answer for every death he caused? Not all of them were hardened criminals, some of them were just rival businessmen or agents. The answer is that you need to face the truth. You're not-"

Alex ripped his arm free and shoved the bigger man, face twisting. "That doesn't mean anything! Maybe he served his time. Maybe he took his punishment for killing those people and got through it. Maybe if I serve mine, they can come get me."

"No." Yassen stepped closer, clear blue eyes burning. "Listen to me. You're not being pun-"

Alex lost it, slamming his fists into Yassen's stomach, hoping to wind him into silence. "Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up-!"

Yassen easily dodged Alex's next swing, twisting his arm back around him. It only infuriated Alex more, seeing how easily the contract killer took control. With a quick sweep of his legs he knocked Alex to the ground and pinned him swiftly to the soft grass. He could already hear the guards shouting to each other. "Alex, that's not what I'm-"

Alex kept screaming at him, thrashing against the grass, shutting out everything. The whiplash between his good morning and the this moment was too great. Why couldn't death just mean nothingness? Why did he have to go on? Surely ceasing to exist would be better than this constant yo-yoing between sanity and dread. He just wanted to sit in the sun and feel okay for a little while, but even that was asking too much after what he'd done.

Just beyond his vision, Julius laughed, dressed in his school uniform, gun at the ready and shining in the darkness while Jack burned.

Dimly, he heard the guards' shouting draw closer before Yassen's grip on him shifted. A needle slid into his neck. He jerked backwards, hoping to dislodge it but only managing to twist it painfully under his skin. He cried out.

No matter how hard he tried, not all of him could truly resign himself to how hopeless things were. He really wished he could. Wanted so badly to accept it. It would mean he could stop thinking, stop trying, stop hoping. He was helpless, but he couldn't help himself from being Alex, no matter how much it made things worse, so he kicked, and he rolled, and he swore.

Within minutes, his thrashing slowed under a chemically induced quicksand. Forced under the current, he slept.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Back from vacation, so hopefully I should be able to maintain a regular update schedule. As always, let me know if you have any feedback or thoughts. :D
> 
> Also, Ingrid, great catch! Your math is sound. I don't think it's too spoiler-y to say that Yassen feeling old is mostly in his head. I don't go too much into his mental state in this story, but I'm about two thirds done with the sequel where it's a much bigger focus.

As the guards hauled Alex off to his cell, Yassen returned to his seat and scooped his book up. He sat with it propped open on his lap but couldn't muster the focus needed to immerse himself in the words. It wasn't as though he lacked the time. Alex would likely sleep for a few hours yet: the needle tossed Yassen's way had contained a larger dosage than he'd previously used.

As much as he hated to admit it, he'd allowed himself a small measure of optimism this morning. Apart from this morning's flames, Alex had seemed to be getting better. He'd been more alert, ravenous at breakfast, and even a little happy (worth celebrating, he decided grumpily, even if had been at his expense) all morning. It had been easy to let hope lull him into wishing the trend to continue. While a large part of him wanted to chalk up the sudden negative shift to another mood swing, Yassen didn't allow himself the pleasure of self-deception when he could spot it so readily: Alex's uptick only highlighted the seething, unpredictable undercurrent of his condition.

There was nothing to be done. Try as he might to ensure that Alex got to bed on time, ate as much as possible, took his medication like clockwork, exercised regularly, and obtained at least thirty minutes of UV radiation a day, there was actually very little that Yassen could do to alter the frequency of his hallucinations or the strength of his delusions. At best, he could make him feel a little better whenever he thought he was on fire. Sometimes.

Maybe there was no way to persuade him he wasn't in some sort of hellish afterlife because something outside of Alex's own intellect had made up its mind. Something unconscious. Whether it was due to madness or plain shell-shock, Alex was firmly ensconced in his own personal hell, real or imaginary.

The little spy's future looked profoundly bleak. In this state, there was no hope he'd ever return to school for more than a few days. Without an education, he couldn't even attempt to obtain a job which, assuming he got by some miracle, he wouldn't be able to hold down anyway. Without family to care for him, he'd spend the rest of his life in some state-run facility. Assuming, of course, that he ever left prison in the first place. Frankly, life in Gibraltar was probably the most pleasant option available.

It was out of both of their control.

Yassen took a deep, calming breath. Alex was determined to be dead, at least in his own head. While still disgusted at the mere idea of suicide, he realized that maybe Alex's delusions were more along the lines of wishful thinking. An end to the madness and manipulation.

Unsurprised, Yassen watched the warden approach out of the corner of his eye. This had, after all, been one of the few times Alex had gotten so violent under Yassen's supervision to warrant actual sedation. There'd be questions to answer, reports to be filed.

He smoothed his expression as the military man drew level with the sun drenched chairs.

A thought crept in, unbidden. Surely the warden didn't wish to end their agreement? Even if the boy had lashed out at Yassen specifically, it didn't mean that Yassen wasn't the best option for containment. It was just a temper tantrum, really. No one got hurt. Despite Alex's thrashing, he hadn't done more than bruise himself.

The uneasy feeling didn't subside. Regardless of Yassen's inability to treat Alex's underlying condition, he firmly believed that Alex would fare far better with him than he ever would with anyone else, qualified or not. After all, even Yassen was tempted to drug the boy into compliance every so often, despite knowing that most of Alex's episodes were ultimately harmless. It was a selfish thought, but one he had no problem admitting to himself. How great would the temptation be to a stranger without that self-awareness? To someone already comfortable with the idea? Based on the guards' attitudes, it would likely be far more frequent.

"Busy morning?" the warden asked, crossing his arms behind his back. He nodded to one of the patrolling men.

"You could say that," Yassen responded, closing his book.

The warden studied him. "That was quite the episode. In fact, enough so that I thought it warranted a second look."

Yassen's eyes narrowed, picking up on the implication immediately. So he'd reviewed the prison's surveillance footage, whichever form that might be in. Even if the sitting area wasn't wired for sound, which he suspected it was, a well placed camera and a mildly-talented lip reader would reveal the contents of their conversation anyway.

A second concern joined the first. Had the warden heard Alex call him by his name?

"I know you mean well by it," the warden began. "But you need stop challenging him like that, even if you think it will help him in the end. That's not your job. Let his therapist iron out his weird ideas."

Yassen didn't quite manage to suppress his disdain. "She's hardly qualified to treat a ragdoll. Do you really think her time with Alex will yield any benefit?"

"Perhaps not," the warden agreed. "But you aren't qualified to treat him either, so far as I'm aware. Let him believe what he wants."

Yassen studied the man. Whether or not he had made any connections between Alex's words and Yassen's true identity had yet to be seen. There wasn't anything different in the warden's manner. At any rate, even if he had heard something, it was in the warden's best interests that Yassen's identity remained a secret: dead inmates made for a short career.

As for Alex's care, it wasn't as though Yassen was in a position to negotiate. "Very well. I'll let his delusions stand. For now."

"Good. That should help quiet things." The warden nodded to him before stepping away. "Think of it this way: why not let the boy relax and feel safe for a bit? It certainly can't hurt him. There's a good chance his strange notions will resolve on their own, given time."

Considering Alex's stubborn personality, Yassen really, really doubted that. He cracked open his book again, not even attempting to make sense of it.

O

Alex set his pencil down, deciding to take a quick break from his maths problems. Suddenly grateful that he'd pulled out his iPod for background music, he stretched in his seat on the bench of the wood picnic table and pretended not to see Yassen's quick glance. Alex wasn't sure what corner of the library the man had managed to dig out an advanced algebra book from, but he'd been insistent that Alex practice the formulas even if they were all equations he'd already studied years back. Trigonometry was his last level before he'd been pulled from school, even with his sporadic attendance.

He'd indulged him, more in hopes of shutting the older man up about his education than anything else. Yesterday still burned furiously in his mind. Alex had woken groggy and confused in his room sometime in the late evening, but hadn't even gotten to enjoy his solitude for very long before Yassen rapped on his door and badgered him into going to dinner. By unspoken agreement, they both behaved as though nothing had happened. At least Yassen hadn't given him any trouble over how little Alex felt like eating; given his larger dose than normal of B-52, his stomach rolled at the sight of the heavy paella the chef had prepared.

He did manage to work down his dessert, as usual. Instead of Yassen's usual habit of rolling his eyes at Alex's selective nausea, he'd offered him his portion.

To say Alex had been skeptical of his motives was an understatement. Dessert was the only meal that didn't offer seconds and this was iced raspberry granata, Yassen's favorite. He had never said so, but Alex knew it had to be. The man diligently abstained from dessert, indulging only in the twice a week treat despite the far more sophisticated options, such as the chef's fresh creme brulee and fruit tarts. Alex could recognize a peace offering when he saw it. Yassen, in some way, had been trying to make up for their fight earlier.

Alex was still bitter about the whole thing, but he'd accepted the granata with a muttered thanks anyway.

Eager to avoid conversation, Alex fiddled with his song selection, already bored of the Egyptian reggae that the iPod's shuffle function had deemed fit to throw at him. The instrument selection was interesting and upbeat, but the songs became repetitive too quickly for his tastes, especially since he didn't understand the lyrics enough to appreciate them. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the warden striding purposefully towards the administration building, Dr. Wood in tow.

Interesting. He'd never seen them together and both of them seemed… tense.

Alex bit his lip. He wasn't sure what the range on the audio surveillance function of his iPod was, but he guessed that it was about two hundred yards at its maximum. The sitting area he and Yassen currently occupied was on the outer range of that, but it wasn't as though he had anything to lose.

Unless they were having some kind of affair. That he could live without over-hearing.

With a side glance at Yassen, Alex quickly switched functions and propped the small device up on the edge of his book.

The audio was crackly, fading in and out until Alex adjusted the target range with a slow spin of the trackpad. All of a sudden, the warden's voice jumped out at him, startling him into dropping his iPod. Yassen did glance over at that, so Alex hurriedly picked it up and grabbed his pen, pretending to be absorbed in his next problem.

"-made it into one of Alex's medical reports?" the warden said. He sounded frustrated but not necessarily angry. Alex considered himself a bit of an expert on that particular tone. "Mistakes happen, but this is a matter of prison security. Questions were raised about our ability to keep our inmates safe. I just got off the phone with my boss's boss's boss. I've managed to put out the fire for now, but it mustn't happen again."

Nurse Scalia sounded uncharacteristically upset. "I apologize deeply, sir. I must have been so focused on transcribing Alex's responses verbatim that I accidentally included the name. I assure you the error was clerical."

"We both missed it, to be honest," Briar interjected. "Not that I think it's that big a deal. I mean, I know we're supposed to keep Six anonymous, but I'm pretty sure Yasha isn't even his real name. Otherwise, he'd be more upset with Alex using it so much, right?"

Alex darted a quick glance at the contract killer in question. So it was a prison rule that they weren't to use Yassen's name? He hadn't really questioned it before, but now he couldn't help himself. Everyone else used their real names, so far as Alex knew. Even if the Dart's christian name wasn't Dart, at least he had a name. On his very first day, Yassen had insisted that Alex call him Prisoner Six before they settled on a name he could remember.

What made Yassen so special?

The warden's voice sharpened. "That's not the issue. The issue is that MI6 is watching our treatment of Alex very closely and that name should have never made it into the reports in the first place. My agreement with Six isn't exactly official. While I'm prepared to defend it to my superiors, I'd rather avoid the conversation about why I'm essentially allowing an adult inmate unrestricted access to a child. These things don't look good in a hearing, no matter the reason."

"It wasn't an official report, sir," Scalia said absently. "It was just in his patient notes. I wasn't aware that MI6 had any official interest in those."

"Even if they do," Briar broke in. "Why is it taking them so goddamn long to approve all of our medical requests for Alex? They aren't complicated or expensive. I get that these things have to pass through the proper channels and whatnot, but every other inmate has had their medical requests reviewed within a week- two at most- even if they aren't approved right away. We haven't even got confirmation that they've received our request for more analysis of those weird blood results. I can't find it anywhere in the system. It's like we never filed it."

The warden grunted. "That's hardly a surprise. My request for a psych tech to follow him around instead of Six is still under review."

Scalia let out a weak laugh. "Bureaucracy, right?"

There was a tense silence.

"I probably shouldn't tell you this," the warden said, voice dropping a few good decibels. "But it seems like the sort of thing you should know if you're going to navigate the paperwork. This latest blow up proves it. I think MI6 is being deliberately obtuse about Alex's care. They keep making noise about funding and proper channels, but I just had a request for non-essential library materials processed in less than two days. Normally that'd take two years, given its low priority. Something else is going on."

Briar broke in, drowning out whatever Scalia was about to say. "I know, right!? I think it has to do with those mandatory booster shots. It makes no sense given how little interest they've shown in the rest of his care. Why would they go through all the trouble and then demand proof that we've administered them? They don't even do that for his anti-psychotics. And why are the injections so frequent? They could just ask us to make sure he takes a multivitamin every day or request he follow a specific diet. There's something shady about them, I just know it. I want to see what happens if we take him off them."

The warden's voice hardened. "While I'm inclined to agree, there's nothing we can do. A lot of Alex's care here isn't by the book. The amount of regulations we waive on his behalf daily could put us under review. If we avoid giving him the injections, I'm confident some sort of hell will rain down on us. They're obviously paying attention. Don't they require you send back the used needle each time you inject him as proof he received the shot?"

"So you want us to keep giving him the injections, sir?" Scalia asked, sounding just a touch furious even to Alex's ears. "We don't even know what they really are. MI6 sure as hell doesn't want us to find out, if they're so determined to keep us from running additional tests. We can't really do our jobs in the dark like this. I'm utterly terrified to mess with his medication regimen because I don't know if he'll have some sort of reaction I can't account for in advance. We have to consider our obligation to provide adequate care."

The warden sighed. "I'm not just trying to cover our asses. You also have to consider Alex."

Briar's voice was sharper than Alex had ever heard anyone use with the warden. "Clearly."

"Briar," Scalia hissed. Alex wondered if he half imagined the warning. Either way, Dr. Wood fell silent.

"Insubordination aside," the warden said, tone a touch icy. "I like Alex. He's a nice kid. Oddly enough, I'd say he's even saner than Julius, even if his illness is a bit more visible. Regardless, I have my orders. MI6 wants secrecy, enough so that I'm to prioritize containment over treatment. As far as containment goes, I don't know of any other prisons that fit the bill that are quite as… pleasant as ours is. I doubt Alex's treatment would be as good somewhere else, even with our hands tied."

"If they'd even bother," Briar muttered.

"In any case," the warden went on. "The mystery injections aren't killing the kid- the results you were able to interpret make that clear. So long as we keep our heads down, we can keep our jobs, make Alex as comfortable as possible, and cut the kid a break whenever we can."

It was quiet for a long minute.

"Yes, sir." That was Scalia.

A long, drawn out pause.

Briar sighed. "You're not wrong…."

"In the future, just refer to Six as 'supervising carer', if you must include his observations at all," the warden continued. "I'll update you immediately if I hear back from-"

Alex ripped out the earbuds and shoved his iPod across the table, clutching his head.

It was too much. The more he heard about the mystery surrounding his sudden incarceration and weekly injections, the more curious and upset he became. It wasn't fair to punish him by pitting his own nature against himself. He couldn't help being the way he was. It was like punishing someone for being blind or deaf. He should have fought the impulse to pry harder. Why had he gone along with it? Why had he let him distract himself by paying any attention to the bait they'd laid? He should have never listened in.

His breathing picked up, stuttering in his chest. He forced the air in and out, squelching any thoughts that tried to rise like a sweeping tide across his brain.

One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.

Yassen's hand came down gently on his shoulder. Alex nearly jumped out of his skin, but fortunately for them both, his medication dulled his reaction time before he could lash out. He still twitched. "What's the matter?"

Alex crumpled forward, resting his forehead against the textbook as he sucked in air. When he could muster the breath necessary to speak, he muttered, "It's just a panic attack. Don't worry about it."

Yassen's hand tightened and he began to speak, so Alex quickly sat up, picked up his pen again, and did everything in his power to lose himself in his maths. After a moment, the hand was removed and Yassen let him be.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As always, thank you so much for all your feedback and reviews! I really do love reading them even if they're short, and I especially love them if you think I've missed something. Predictions are also great, because it lets me know if you guys are asking the right questions or if I need to foreshadow things more. It really does help me out a lot.
> 
> guepard54: I've always loved the premise of having Alex and Yassen meet in the Gibraltar prison as inmates so I'm glad you're onboard with it. ^^ Actually, my secret hope is that it becomes the next fanfiction trope, much like "Alex goes to Brecon Beacons" or "Alex gets adopted by K-Unit". Seriously. I'd love to read more stories that play with this idea, so if anyone has any ideas, for the love of god, write them already!

"Let's talk a bit about your health, okay?" Briar said as soon as Alex settled on the couch in the warden's sitting room. Other than being underweight, the boy actually looked fairly healthy. No visible bruises, no limp, better color in his face. Hopefully, he'd be able to stave off any panic attacks long enough for her to dig a little for some information. "I've got some questions."

Alex sighed. "Doesn't Scalia cover that? I swear to god, if anyone gives Yasha any more ideas, he's going to start force feeding me vitamin supplements and duct tape a thermometer to my head."

Briar laughed. "I take it that you two are getting along?"

"I guess," Alex said, scowling at his knees, obviously eager to change the subject. "Why do you want to know about the shots? Like I said, Scalia has all my info, unless you think there's something missing."

Briar flapped a hand, smiling in a way she hoped was very, very casual. "No, no, I'm just curious. Dotting my i's and crossing my t's, you know? What do you know about those booster shots?"

Alex's eyes narrowed, but she wasn't entirely sure if that was in an act of suspicion or if he was just falling asleep. Again. Regardless, he yawned and stretched. "They have vitamins and minerals in them? I don't know. I've been getting them for months, only now they're more frequent since I stopped eating properly."

"How often did you get them at first?"

"Once every few months?" Alex glanced at the TV, where she'd already queued up the next episode of Jersey Shore. His hand slid into his pocket, fingering the iPod she knew he kept there. "I don't remember. I got lots of injections and medications whenever I got injured on a mission and sent to hospital."

"And now it's every week," Briar said, staring at the patient notes in her lap. "I see. Are there any side effects that you've noticed?"

Alex wrinkled his nose. "No, not that I would when I'm on so many medications already. If I turned purple and sprouted wings, I'm not sure I'd be able to say why. Why so many questions about it?"

Briar hesitated. Even if this was the only place in the compound that wasn't wired for audio, there was still the chance that Alex might say something to the wrong person. On the other hand, she'd clearly already attracted his attention and evading the question would just inspire anxiety. Alex didn't trust her- didn't seem to trust the vast majority of adults in his life for several very good reasons- but he was willing to humor her. If she lost that, she'd have no real way of treating him.

"It's just not usually part of a psychiatric treatment like yours," she told him. "Normally we focus on managing severe psychological symptoms and not really worry about the physical ones. Not in cases like this. However, you've got plenty of serious physical issues, so of course those issues have to be dealt with. I just want to make sure we can account for every little symptom and medication."

He'd stared at her for a long second, almost as though he knew she was skirting the truth. "Doesn't Scalia have that information?"

Briar waved a nervous hand. "Like I said, I'm mostly just double checking. I didn't mean to concern you."

Alex studied her face, before reclining on the couch and getting comfortable. "That's alright. It's just that you reminded me of someone else who kept asking me about them."

"Oh?" Briar asked, trying to conceal the sudden flash of hope. "Who was that?"

"A guy I used to work with. He designed my gadgets," Alex said, shifting a throw pillow behind him. "Derek Smithers. Have you met him?"

"Oh, I haven't met any MI6 agents," she'd said, scribbling down the name and forcing her voice to remain light. "I'm technically a CIA liaison, meant to show unity and cooperation between the agencies or whatever, but mostly I just push paperwork around. I'm not even an agent. I think I've seen his name in your file before, though. What did he ask you about them, if I might ask?"

"Same stuff as you," Alex said, shrugging. "What they were, how often I was getting them. That sort of thing. I think he was worried he'd have to design gadgets around them if they were a regular occurance. Last I checked, he was working on a watch to monitor my blood pressure and heart rate, before sending out a bunch of signals under certain conditions. You know, like an SOS that doesn't actually require you to activate it. I think he needed to account for anything that would change the base math." Alex fell quiet and stared at his hands. "I really liked Smithers."

Briar bit her lip, wondering how much she should press. She had promised him that she'd focus on the medical aspect of his condition, but she couldn't quite keep digging without explaining. Then again, if he had a panic attack because things got too personal… "Yeah?" she asked absently.

He nodded, still not looking up, voice soft and pensive. "Yeah. He always made sure I had what I needed to be okay, even bent the rules about weapons to make sure I could blast my way out of a pinch. The last time I saw him, he told me he was sorry about what had happened to me. That I should have never been used the way I was. I hope he's alright."

Briar underlined the name, fighting to contain her excitement as she picked up the remote. If Smithers felt any kind of discomfort over Alex's treatment, she might be able to leverage that to get some information. "He sounds very clever and kind. I'm sure he's doing just fine. You just focus on getting better. On that note, are you ready for some fake suntan and cat fights?"

O

Yassen waited patiently for his avatar to respawn, listening to Alex's sudden groan as his character fell in the line of pixelated battle.

While he supposed it was accommodating of the warden to provide Alex's cell with an Xbox, he questioned the judgement of whoever had selected Halo as one of the three games the boy could choose to play. It wasn't exactly an intuitive choice, given Alex's violent trauma. Weren't they the least bit worried that such a combat heavy game would irritate his flashbacks?

To be fair though, Yassen thought, watching Alex gleefully mash buttons as he mowed down the swarming aliens, it didn't seem to bother him any.

Alex turned to him, eyes hopeful. "One more co-op before lunch?"

Yassen shrugged as Alex flicked his way through the navigation menu. While Yassen arguably had better things to do with his morning than play video games, he found himself agreeing when Alex had half-heartedly suggested it, clearly not expecting him to say yes.

There was no harm in it. Alex began the day by falling asleep on the vertical rowing machine, so perhaps it was best to keep his mind as active as possible if his body was unable to. As much as Yassen abhorred wasting time, there wasn't anything better to keep the boy occupied: he'd nearly finished with the maths textbook Yassen had foisted on him, he'd been for a walk outside (even if he'd curled up on the grass for a nap within minutes), and eaten decently at breakfast. So far as Alex's breaks from the drudge of reality went, at least this one didn't involve a pharmaceutical nap.

Admittedly, Yassen knew he was still uneasy about Alex's sedation three days ago. Alex hadn't even winded him with his punches, much less posed any real threat, but it did make clear an interesting point: whatever peaceful coexistence they shared was entirely dependant on Alex's trust. While the next day passed without serious incident, Alex had clearly withdrawn, either ignoring him outright or doing the bare minimum to be left alone. Yassen hadn't realized how much trouble he'd previously saved himself. Alex's complaints tripled when voiced at all, and the boy had taken to settling as far away from Yassen as he could manage. Twice Yassen had caught him lying about his hallucinations, opting to deal with them himself than allow Yassen to be even remotely involved in alleviating his terror.

Not that it had hurt his feelings, of course. It didn't summon to mind the stinging prickles of seemingly random rejection he'd received from John during his training all those years ago. Certainly not. Any memories of that time Alex's behavior invoked was merely because of a passing familial resemblance. Even that was a negligible factor since Yassen saw more of the blonde woman from Paris in Alex's features as he got older.

At any rate, Yassen certainly wasn't eager to appease the brat for any emotional reason: it was entirely about building up collateral he could use to keep things running smoothly. It had taken another two days of patient indulgence on Yassen's part before the boy seemed to warm up to him again. Whatever feelings of relief Yassen experienced were purely rooted in the strategic and measurable gains he'd see in his day to day routine.

Of course, the nature of life was to merely replace problems, cycling endlessly between one frustration and the next. Now that Alex was content with Yassen's presence again, something new had emerged for Yassen's unease to settle on.

Scalia's summons yesterday hadn't seemed odd at the time. After all, there was a good chance he simply wanted to check in on Alex, update Yassen on his tests, or record his observations of the boy's mental state. Not that Yassen was terribly forthcoming with the latter: he found himself in a constant battle between sharing enough to aid the boy's treatment without providing anything MI6 could leverage in the future. So when he'd arrived, Alex in tow, only for the nurse to request that Yassen sit on the exam table, something cautious and paranoid in Yassen had flared back to life.

"My six month physical was two months ago," he found himself saying lightly. "Don't I have another four months to go?"

Scalia nodded. "Good memory, but no, this isn't for your physical. Just going to run a few blood panels. Routine stuff for someone your age."

Yassen's lips thinned. He ate well. He took the proper precautions in the gym to avoid injury. He didn't even drink liquor regardless of its availability. To say he took meticulous care of his physical health was to understate it horrifically. They both knew it. Scalia had been quite frank about his results of his previous exam.

There was zero reason he could think of to look at his blood.

Alex rolled his eyes. "Someone his age? Is thirty the new seventy?"

Scalia seemed amused by that, glancing at Yassen, clearly bound by some semblance of doctor-patient confidentiality.

Yassen raised an eyebrow at the boy. "I'm thirty five. Did you really think I met your father when I was your age?"

The boy flushed, but dodged the question neatly, grinning wickedly. "Isn't that old for your line of work? Don't tell me- you're a geriatric in assassin years." He folded his arms and looked over at Scalia. "Maybe we should get him a walker. Or a cane."

Yassen caught himself rolling his eyes, forcing himself to stop. Being around Alex for so long had lulled him into disregarding his own non-verbal responses. He didn't normally have such difficulty concealing them. Perhaps it was because the range had expanded beyond what Yassen had grown accustomed to dealing with. Few clients tended to tease the man they'd hired to murder their rivals or ask him to play video games with them. "With age comes experience. Don't get cocky, little Alex."

"Ooh, someone's testy today." The blonde had laughed outright at the look Yassen gave him. "Did you fall and break a hip?"

Watching Alex reset the mission screen from his perch at the end of his bed, Yassen scolded himself. Caught up in Alex's good mood, he hadn't wrangled a straight answer from the nurse about the reason for his blood tests. Not that he would have gotten a better one without more… persuasive methods. As Scalia said, it could just be a routine check of something as innocuous as cholesterol levels, but why not cover those bases with the rest of his screenings during his mandated bi-annual physical?

If someone had found his location, if one word had been breathed by the right guard into the wrong ear, someone might be trying to confirm his identity.

Yassen wasn't naive enough to think that the various intelligence agencies hadn't taken advantage of his debilitating injuries on Air Force One. For over a decade, Yassen had eluded their efforts to get definitive samples of his DNA and fingerprints. At the very least, they'd need to close the files on his past crimes. He was on record somewhere now; it simply could not have been avoided. Without checking the various databases himself, it would be impossible to know exactly how deep that information was buried and who had the necessary clearance levels to access it. His current location would be simple enough for MI6 to obfuscate since they had ultimately taken him into custody, but his entire file, split across as many agencies as it was? Unlikely.

Paranoia and caution kept him alive, and right now, they were screaming that something was going on.

Tapping absently at his controller as the game started up again, he watched Alex out of the corner of his eye. Yassen had long ago made peace with the idea that he'd die with the business end of a gun aimed at his head or even from an attack from within these prison walls. It wasn't something he looked forward to and had every intention of attempting to thwart, but he didn't waste time dreading the day. It wasn't as though he had anything to worry about once he was dead.

Until now.

How would Alex respond if Yassen died? His perception of the afterlife, while tenacious, seemed oddly fragile in the face of change. What would his death do to Alex's idea that they were being punished for their crimes? Would it break the fragile delusion or would he find a way to account for it?

Yassen frowned. If anything, he'd probably take it as another level to his punishment. After all, no one else at the prison was as lenient with Alex's attempts to placate his own hallucinations as Yassen was. Yassen's death would mean a significant increase in guard administered sedations. Even his harmless hallucinations could provoke irritating responses for whomever was responsible for watching him; liquid sleep was an easy solution to abuse. With no one to badger him into following his doctor's orders, Alex would probably languish in his room, too unaware to look after his own health much less focus enough on his own recovery to do anything about his situation. Not that he could.

A bug-like alien exploded into blood splatters under the fire of Yassen's digital shotgun blasts. He reloaded absently.

Alex laughed and whooped. "Head shot!"

Yassen winced ever so slightly. Shouldn't the boy be a little more bothered by Yassen's violent displays, even if purely limited to the digital? Given Yassen's history with Alex's family and… lack thereof. He let the thought go as Alex happily swapped out his rifle for a machine gun, firing at the oncoming swarm in a neat red arc.

Still mired in the bleakness of Alex's future, Yassen didn't actually realize he'd spoken until after the fact. "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

Alex froze, taking enemy fire for a split second before he shook himself and returned the volley. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Yassen almost thought that Alex had decided to ignore him again before the boy shrugged. "Footballer, for a long time. I'm pretty good. Made the school team despite being 'sick' almost constantly. What was it for you? Astronaut?"

Yassen snorted. "Hardly."

Alex raised an eyebrow, eyes still glued to the screen in front of him. "So what was it?"

Yassen wasn't entirely sure why he hesitated. He could lie though he had no reason to. There was a vulnerability to being truthful. Something that didn't necessarily sit right…

It was irrelevant. "Helicopter pilot," he said at last.

"Cool," Alex said, sounding sincere. "Like for the military?"

Yassen shook his head, spending a split second focusing on his avatar to stall. Now that he'd started the conversation, unintentionally or not, he had to find a way to turn this back to Alex. "Air and sea rescue. What did you mean for a long time? Football not quite as appealing?"

Alex snorted. "Well, I can hardly play here. Besides, I started getting really good at maths and physics so I don't know anymore. My instructors started pestering me to think about STEM careers. Those jobs started sounding more fun than twisting an ankle or getting a concussion on a seasonal basis. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious," Yassen said, already knowing that Alex wouldn't accept that answer. Yassen hadn't shown any curiosity in something so trivial before. He rarely asked Alex personal questions at all, unless they related to his health. He hadn't even been a position to inquire about the things that did interest him, such as Alex's foray into Scorpia politics or his subsequent missions for MI6. "I'll order you a physics book next. You need to think about the future."

Alex stiffened next to him. On the screen, his avatar took a stab to the chest, unmoving and unresisting. His health bar plummeted sharply. Alex glanced over at him, expression flat. "This future stuff again. Why? Why should I have to pretend that I have one?"

Yassen set his jaw. "You do have one, even if it's here. Just think about it."

"Why?" Alex repeated, eyes narrowing.

Yassen hesitated, wondering how much he should reveal to the surveillance teams and how much directness might rock Alex's mental state. The boy's responses to the idea of death were unpredictable, to say the least. He opted for veiled honesty. "Because I might not be able to look after you much longer. The warden was very clear that this was a temporary arrangement, until he could bring in more qualified staff."

Alex glared at him, before dragging his eyes down to his controller. He clutched it between two tight fists, but didn't resume playing, allowing his character to die again and again at the spawn point. "Isn't that cheating?" he spat out.

Yassen blinked at him. "Cheating?"

"At your punishment."

Yassen dropped his controller on the side table next to him, not bothering to pause the game either. "This has nothing to do with punishments, Alex. I can't take care of you forever. I would if I could, but you have to think about your future and what to do with it when I'm gone."

"You're not going anywhere," Alex snapped, standing up and crossing his arms. His chin seemed to sink backwards, as though he could pull it into his chest for protection. "And don't pretend that you care about me or my future. You're just taking his place so you don't even have to, but don't pretend like it's not your punishment."

Yassen jerked a hand at the room around them. "Who's place? I'm already in prison."

Alex snorted, bitterly. "Your punishment for killing Ian, not the others. I killed Julius, so I have to take his place here. You killed my uncle so you have to take his place looking after me."

It was too much. Weeks of dealing with tantrums and boredom, panic attacks and naps, approval and rejection, not to mention the weird surges of random emotion-

He couldn't take it anymore.

Yassen was on his feet in a flash, gripping Alex's arms so hard the flesh paled as he shook the boy. Alex being so light meant that the act had more violence than Yassen intended. "It's not a punishment, Alex," he snarled, frustration winding its way through his limbs and out through his hands. Unable to care if Alex realized how precariously Yassen's life depended on his silence. "It's a deal I made with the warden. We're not dead!"

Alex screwed up his face, clearly torn between fury and grief as his head whipped back and forth. His overgrown blonde hair fluttered with every shake. "Stop lying! I don't care if you think it's me or you who can't accept it, but I know what's going on now. I figured it out."

Yassen allowed his grip to slacken, but didn't remove his hands, studying the contorted lines of Alex's face. Tried not to flinch as he saw that the boy was on the brink of angry tears. Again.

"I figured it out," Alex repeated, glaring at the floor.

Understanding crashed around him like a tidal wave. Alex needed the lie more than anything else.

The truth was too horrible. Fifteen years old, scarred and trapped in a never ending psychological nightmare. Little to no control over what happened to him and no way to make it stop. Manipulated from on high, with no way to truly understand the decisions ruling his life, he was completely subject to the whims of his extortionists. The sheer hopelessness and horror of his situation would be hard for an adult to accept without wanting to swallow a bullet: how difficult would it be for a grieving, shell shocked teenager on so many medications he couldn't even stay awake?

The lie was the only way it all made sense, wrapped it up in a neat little bow that made it okay-no, practical and correct- to accept his own helplessness. Hell, this delusion was probably the reason he could tolerate Yassen's constant presence, now that he thought about it: if Yassen were already being punished for the death of his uncle, there was no need for Alex to exact revenge. He could just exist, free of the responsibility of worry if not the consequences of his past.

Which made all of those things Yassen's problem. For some reason.

There was a sharp rap on the doorframe. Despite that the fact that the door was as wide open as always, Mateo declined to enter. He gestured between them. "What's this? Another hallucination?"

With a jolt, Yassen realized he was clutching Alex by the shoulders hard enough to turn his knuckles white. To release him now and step back would just make him look guilty of something.

To Yassen's surprise, Alex nodded. "That's right. It's almost passed, though."

Mateo didn't bat an eye. "Something new this time?"

"My legs stopped working. I thought I might fall," Alex said shortly, staring at the floor behind Mateo to avoid looking at Yassen. "It's not that bad now."

Mateo nodded, shifting his stance as he rested his hands on his belt. He met Yassen's impassive gaze. "Alright. Will he need an injection?"

Yassen shook his head. "No, he'll be fine. It'll pass."

Mateo shrugged and left. If he'd been casually patrolling, there was little reason for him to suspect they were telling anything less than the truth. The hallucination was clearly a non-violent one, thank god, and Yassen seemed to have it well under control. If anything weird showed up on the thermal imaging it could be addressed as needed. If he'd been sent by the surveillance team in response to what they'd heard, then he was well aware that they'd been arguing, but had decided to let it go regardless.

As soon as Mateo was out of sight, Alex shoved away Yassen's arms and glowered, before abruptly grabbing his trainers from where he'd left them scattered on the floor. "Don't talk to me. We have to go to lunch or-" he broke off, glancing again at the clearly deserted hallway of the cell block. Roughly yanked both shoes on, ripping at the laces until they were tight. "Just don't talk to me."

Yassen nodded and followed Alex out of his room in silence.

Alex's options for a future were limited, but if he remained in prison they were non-existent. If Alex were to have a hope of a life he could mentally reconcile with, he couldn't stay here. MI6 would never release him unless he was functional enough for a mission, so that was out. The boy had no family to demand answers to his whereabouts, at least according to Scorpia's files. With his nanny dead, there was no one else. Alex was alone.

Apart from Yassen.

He would just have to find a way to get them both out of Gibraltar alive and soon.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Back again! As always, let me know if you have any predictions, see any errors, or otherwise are confused. ^^ I'm always excited to get feedback.
> 
> Someone asked if Dr. Briar Wood was a self-insert. The short answer: I really hope not. She actually started out as a 50+ year old German woman named Nadine who had some thrilling psychological commentary, but unfortunately for the story I wanted to tell, she couldn't be quite so good at her job. Hence, I rewrote her into Briar: inexperienced, a little annoying, generally incompetent, with a personality that could kind of justify that level of career negligence in balance with her concern for someone who might actually need her help. Her name being 'Briar' is coincidence: I was registering my fanfic accounts around the time I was making major edits and I was really fond of the name at the time.

Dr. Briar Wood stared at her computer screen, eyes registering the email in her inbox. _Thanks for your purchase! We hope you enjoy your new purse!_ the heading said. She squinted at it before clicking it. She hadn't bought a new purse in months and certainly hadn't bought one online. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe it was some clever form of spam. Either way, she opened and scanned it.

A small picture of Briar's purse popped up, or at least an identical model. The same tan leather, the same weird ruching on the sides, the same desert chevron pattern. She started. It couldn't be a coincidence. It wasn't exactly a fashionable look.

_Our Alexandria model, while not our most popular, is certainly our most versatile! With so many pockets and compartments, it can tackle all of your day to day storage needs without all that added bulk of a traditional purse. Be sure to contact us if you have any questions or issues with your purchase. Have a wonderful day!_

Her breath caught in her throat. That Smithers guy had gotten back to her.

It had to be him; he'd even referenced Alex by name, at least in the same way she had in her letter to him. She ripped open her desk drawer and grabbed her purse with shaking hands.

For days, Briar's brain had been itching to track down the truth about the creepy injections being administered to Alex, hoping to understand just why his care was both carefully monitored and deliberately deprioritized. Too much was weird about it, but there was nothing she could really do. Scalia wasn't pleased either, but he was probably under the most scrutiny and getting fired or court marshalled wouldn't help anyone. The warden was clearly skeptical of the whole mess, but his priority was keeping the prison running smoothly and placating the powers that be.

If answers were to be found, it would have to be Briar who tracked them down.

She'd started her search in as basic a way as possible: by googling Alexander John Rider. It was hardly risky, even if all of her web traffic was monitored both at home and at work. It was something she could connect to his treatment, some excuse she could make for wanting to know more about his history. She'd found nothing, after scrolling through dozens of false positives. Not even a Facebook page, which she knew should exist because he'd mentioned it offhandedly before. He'd also brought up other innocuous things she'd decided to investigate: karate tournaments, football victories, and a handful of other extracurriculars that should have at least warranted a mention in the Brooklands School Newsletter. However, all of the digital versions she accessed were unusually spotty when it came to Alex's achievements- entire editions and pages were missing, corrupted, or refused to load. She dug and dug, but couldn't find so much as a passing mention of him.

MI6 had erased him.

Rattled but not deterred, Briar had tried a different approach: asking Alex himself. She hadn't gotten much, but she'd gotten a name. Derek Smithers.

Yesterday, Briar had gone hunting around Gibraltar for an internet cafe. Finding the nearest one to her house, she'd searched for any Derek Smithers connected to MI6 and spent the afternoon pouring through the results. She hadn't really expected to find him, especially if he was some kind of engineer for technologies that probably weren't publically available, but she'd gotten lucky. Four months back, a Dr. D Smithers had given a lecture on combustion rates at a scientific conference in London. While his bio page was sparse for a conference of this caliber, it had mentioned his service on a number of civic panels and committees. It had also provided a governmental email address.

It had been a long shot. It wasn't exactly a unique name, though it wasn't entirely common either. There could be dozens of D. Smithers working for the British government, but how many of them were also engineers specializing in explosives? Alex had specifically said the man had "helped him blast his way out of trouble". It couldn't be coincidence.

She'd drafted a quick email, the body reading:

_Several months ago I attended a lecture of yours on the combustion rates of various gases at room temperature. However, a colleague of mine, a writer currently off-the-grid in Alexandria, was hoping for more information about injecting chemicals into those compounds. Unfortunately, neither of our notes on your lecture were quite thorough enough to make a proper list and many of those chemicals remain unknown. I'd very much love to help him out, as he's in a very tough position with his article and currently too indisposed to contact you directly. Would it be possible to trouble you to sending me your lecture notes?_

Truthfully, she hadn't expected a response so quickly, if she'd even get one at all. Dumping out her purse onto her desk, she rifled through all of her belongings, not quite sure what she was searching for. The email mentioned storage, but all of the pockets were empty, so that was out. Where else could it be? What would it look like? She dug around in a small packet of kleenex before popping open her tube of lipstick. Nothing, nothing.

Sighing, she noticed a small pocket calendar wedged into a crevasse at the bottom of her bag. It definitely wasn't hers. Picking it up furtively, she was surprised to realize that it was actually a very thin plastic with a little pen attached. Opening it revealed a tiny digital screen that illuminated sharply, filling with letters.

_I'm so very excited to hear from you, Dr. Wood! I hope Alex is well, though I fear that is likely not the case if he's in Gibraltar. I didn't even know we had a facility there, which does not bode well for the poor chap. I would have attempted to contact him myself had I known where to find him, but alas, it seems Mrs. Jones would rather like to forget about him for the time being. I haven't seen the dear boy since shortly before he escaped from St. Dominic's and haven't been able to get information from anyone about him since. Asking too many questions can be hazardous to one's health: please remember that the next time you send a not-so-coded email to a stranger from your personal email address, hm?_

Briar flushed. Perhaps her hints hadn't quite been as subtle after all. She'd just have to be much more cautious.

_At any rate, I still have my ways. As I've had no way of locating Alex, I've devoted my efforts to determining the chemical makeup of the injections he'd been receiving since sometime last year. It's quite a tricky little cocktail, unlike any I'd seen before and made for a nice little puzzle to take my mind off things. Based off your letter, I might speculate that those same bizarre shots have continued to be administered and even increased. If this is the case, I'm glad my curiosity got the better of me._

_There's no way to say it lightly: Alex is being dosed with an experimental hormone suppressor called A216._

Briar froze, staring at the tiny screen. Her mind screeched to a halt.

Alex and his growth problems… Not one centimeter over the last six months. Scalia said it shouldn't be possible.

MI6 was actively sabotaging his puberty? Why?

_While I'd hoped that Blunt's legacy of abusing his power over Alex would end with his employment, it seems that Mrs. Jones has taken up the torch, so to speak. One of the greatest assets of a child spy is their age: in Alex's case, he's young enough to look harmless, but just big enough to get out of harm's way in a pinch. Unfortunately, such an asset is fleeting but given Alex's staggering success record, it follows that preserving his youthful appearance took far more of a priority than preserving his health. Not only have these injections delayed the full onset of puberty, they have done so at an even greater cost: his neurological health._

_A216 targets the hormonal centers of the brain in a way unlike any other hormonal suppressant have attempted before. While most modern versions target the pituitary gland, this particular compound targets multiple regions. While trials show this to be more effective at halting growth than other available compounds, it does increase the risk of serious side effects. According to the information I was able to glean from the trial, roughly one third of all participants developed serious schizoid symptoms, including but certainly not limited to: paranoia, delusional thinking, aggressive behavior, and vivid multi-sensory hallucinations._

Her fingers whitened against the edges of the planner. MI6 had actually knowingly given Alex the hallucinations? Or at least taken a one in three chance? The idea was staggering in its implications. They'd damn near killed him, his friend Tom, and another agent with that stunt. His future was in shambles. The psychological impact of his time here would last him his lifetime. All to keep him from growing a little facial hair?

Maybe it shouldn't have been so surprising.

_I'm sure you can see where I'm going with this; however, I would suggest you sit down if you are not doing so. I'm afraid things get quite a bit worse._

_In almost a hundred percent of cases in which participants experienced negative side effects, immediate cessation of A216 resulted in the full recovery of neurological function ninety-six percent of the time. Within ninety days, all schizoid symptoms vanished and brain scans showed no long term effects, though participants showed significant signs of chemical withdrawal. Why then, has Mrs. Jones insisted on not just continuing, but increasing his dosage? Unfortunately for Alex, in three percent of cases in which participants continued to receive the medication despite the undesired side effects, a sort of toxic adaptation was eventually reached. Much the same way the poor boy's body developed a tolerance for opioids, Mrs. Jones hopes his brain will develop a tolerance for A216. From what the study found, this is nowhere near an ideal solution even when it succeeds: long term exposure can cause varying levels of brain damage, though physical growth continues to be inhibited._

_I'm afraid that Alex's unique position has made him a target for the ruthlessness with which his life and his sanity are being treated. His "employment" by MI6 is a metaphorical wolf by the ears: they cannot keep holding on to him nor can they let him go. In simple terms, they can neither afford the fallout of his discovery by the public nor accept losing one of their most successful agents. By stashing him out of sight, Mrs. Jones kills two birds with one stone: first, she can buy time to suppress whatever information remains about him, and second, she can continue brute forcing his neurological health on the off-chance he'll recover enough to return to service as a harmless-looking boy._

_In any case, I doubt that Alex will develop such a tolerance at all. Most participants that did showed signs of it within a handful of dosages, in amounts far less than what I estimate Alex to have received already. It is extremely unlikely he'll do so now. Instead, Alex will continue to suffer the side effects so long as he receives his injections. The longer it goes on, the more likely he is to incur permanent brain damage._

_Perhaps it is better this way. At least, I hope that he is safe and cared for if somewhat unhappy, rather than facing an early, painful death, far from home and with little oversight._

_Despite how bleak this seems, there is some hope. I don't fully understand your position or your facility, but I hope that you are at least able to influence his care. If you are able to, please cease the administration of these shots and let Alex recover his brain function. His withdrawal will be extremely severe, but it is important that this be concealed from anyone outside the prison. Hopefully, the lingering growth blockers will continue to function as his mind improves, meaning that his lack of dosing might fly under the radar until Jones takes notice of his recovery. If we can trick her into thinking he is no longer growing but has regained his mind due to toxic adaptation, we may be able to force her to return him to England for a complete field evaluation. If we succeed, there may be something I can do to help him once he is within my reach._

_I failed to intervene on his behalf before, as have the dozens of adults who have had contact with him since he was first blackmailed into service. Every time we saw his situation and said nothing, we consented to his treatment. Every time, we inaudibly told him that it was acceptable. It is my greatest shame and my biggest regret. With your assistance, I hope to at least try to course-correct his life before it is too late. He is owed far more and far better than those more powerful than I, but I fear it is all I can do for him to get him away from MI6 permanently._

_If you need anything, including any more information regarding A216, please write it in your planner using the pen provided. I will be able to see the messages you send and they are fully encrypted, so don't hesitate to ask for what you need plainly. I will be in contact as things develop on my end as well._

_Most jovial regards,_

_-Smithers_

_P.S. If you are discovered, please tap the screen seven times in rapid succession and this planner will self destruct in a shower of blue and gold fireworks. It's quite pretty if I do say so myself and will hopefully counterbalance whatever dread may be inspired by being caught colluding against the head of MI6._

Briar took a deep breath and dropped the planner on her desk, feeling it almost rattle her to her bones. "Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ," she whispered, burying her face in her hands.

O

In the dining hall, Alex glowered down at his plate. Even with Yassen remaining silent, Alex could see the unwelcome reminder of the man's influence on his dinner tray. He'd loaded his portions with vegetables, mostly out of habit to avoid the nagging sure to follow if he didn't. He poked at his broccoli with a limp fork. He actually liked broccoli, as much as he liked any vegetable, but knowing that eating it was something that Yassen would approve of him eating made him dread the taste. He pushed it away and picked at his pisto instead.

Yassen's eyes tracked the rejection of the untouched veggie. Out of the corner of his eye, Alex watched him open his mouth, stopping himself at the last second from making some sort of comment.

Satisfaction blossomed in his chest, feeding a bitter part of him he hadn't realized was starving. He craved it again, to thwart him or make Yassen angry when he couldn't retaliate.

Let him know what it was like to be powerless, for once.

Alex pushed his barely touched plate away and pulled out his iPod, lying his head on the table.

Yassen gave him a pointed look, which Alex thoroughly enjoyed ignoring.

Everything about Yassen felt tangled. It usually did, though it was easier to ignore when he wasn't actively furious with the Russian. As much as he didn't understand it, Alex knew something in Yassen's attitude towards taking care of him had shifted. At first, he'd been reluctant to even speak to Alex, even if he were willing to intervene with the hallucinations on his behalf. If anything, intervening seemed like something Yassen was resigned to. A chore. Alex had initially chalked it up to the man's lingering and weird loyalty to his father.

Lately, though, Yassen had been almost nice. His nagging bordered less on following the nurse's orders and more on the edge of actual concern. He'd even played video games with him and let Alex watch the telly or nap the last two afternoons in a row. Rather than being reassured by the sudden influx of positive variety in their interactions, Alex found himself reminded uncomfortably of the push and pull he'd gotten from Ian and Jack growing up; fun games or vacations the one minute and enforced bed times the next.

Well, more so like Jack: Ian hadn't been terribly involved day-to-day past Alex's seventh birthday. Even so, it felt too similar, too personal, to sit well with him.

Maybe that's why he'd lied to the guard about having a hallucination. Alex knew the rules; the warden had been extremely clear on his first day, repeating himself many times in what was likely consideration for Alex's drugged haze. Touching between inmates was strictly forbidden, though in their case, it seemed Yassen had leeway so long as it was related to managing Alex. Alex could have claimed that Yassen was beating him and it would likely be taken quite seriously, even if he wasn't believed. He could have made things difficult for the other man or at least prompted the warden to review otherwise uninteresting surveillance logs.

Perhaps it had more to do with his slip up. Alex still wasn't sure why Yassen's identity had to be protected in hell, but he was pretty sure anyone who had read his file could draw some easy conclusions. After all, he'd directly accused Yassen of killing Ian and Yassen hadn't corrected him. There was nothing he could do to take it back. Despite not understand the strange rule, it probably was more trouble than it was worth if he drew attention to his mistake.

That must be it, he decided. All that was left was Alex not wanting Yassen to get into trouble, and that would require liking him enough to care. Which he didn't.

Dessert was set out and Alex glanced at the clustering inmates in front of the service window with mild interest. Surely Yassen would disapprove of Alex dodging dinner only to take full advantage of dessert? Yassen caught his eye, but didn't say anything even though they were both likely thinking along the same lines. That settled it. Alex stood hurriedly to get his portion of granata.

Again, Alex felt a stab of wicked pleasure as he saw Yassen's face crease ever so slightly as Alex cheerfully acquired the treat. Returning to his seat, he dug in without hesitation and quickly finished his dish.

A minute later, Yassen scooted his own small bowl of granata across the table to rest in front of Alex.

Scowling, Alex shoved it back. "That won't work twice, you know."

Yassen shrugged, expressionless. "Work how? At least you're eating something."

Alex glowered at the tabletop, shoving a second earbud in. He refused to let Yassen have any say in what he ate. Not tonight.

With a jolt, he realized that Yassen was only half paying attention to him anyway. His eyes seemed focused on examining the doors, the windows, even the staff bustling behind the service window as they packed away the dinner items. It was more like how he'd been when Alex had first seen him in Britain: always watching, assessing, calculating. Quietly dangerous. But why? Alex thought he'd lost the habit.

Then again, Alex's own habits were rather unwilling to go into that good night. His appointment with Dr. Wood, of course, had raised some red flags. Alex had long since stopped questioning the variety of annoying ways MI6 could intrude in his life, but it was a little jarring to have both Briar and Smithers hyperfocus on the same little aspect. He'd nearly told her nothing out of habit, but something stopped him. After all, if he investigated it himself, surely that would just add to his punishment, right? Perhaps it was different if someone else did the leg work. Perhaps it would result in nothing. Either way, giving her that tiny amount of info on Smithers had scratched his curious itch.

The moment of objective reflection gave him a much needed break from his spite.

Suddenly, he felt equally disappointed that he hadn't gotten a rise from Yassen as he was ashamed at what a little brat he was being. Alex fiddled with the strings of his headphones as Yassen absently ate his rejected granata, returning to the silence Alex had demanded. Maybe Yassen was trying to butter him up. So what? It wasn't like Alex being mad at him had ever prevented him from doing his babysitting gig before. Alex wasn't actually willing to risk a sedative nap by doing something big enough to get Yassen in trouble and they both knew it. Yassen could easily let Alex's anger fizzle out on it's own with no skin off his back. Instead, he was making an effort.

He put his head down and shut his eyes, stifling a groan. Maybe he should go a little easier on him. Yassen was in hell too. If part of Alex's punishment was dealing with the weird, conflicting nature of their relationship, Yassen's side of the experience had to be at least as bad. For all Alex knew, Yassen might secretly despise the very sight of him.

Not for the first time, Alex wished he could break the no speaking of their pasts rule. He never did get a proper explanation for that stupid scar on his neck, just Yassen's assertion that John Rider had saved his life by firing that bullet. He ached to know. Whatever had happened between them had to be pretty impressive to inspire such long-burning loyalty by proxy.

Alex lay with his head on the table. When Yassen tapped his shoulder, he left for the accommodations block without complaint.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Crazy chapter this week. Extra long and lots of plot advancement. As always, I love feedback and observations. If you find anything that's inconsistent or doesn't make sense, point it out! I have a lot of fun writing and I'm always looking to polish my skills and improve, so there's no need hold back. :)

Forced to come to the same conclusion a second time, Yassen begrudgingly admitted to himself that there was no way out of this prison, barring luck or divine intervention. The walls were too high, too thick, and far too consistently guarded to be worth considering viable. While Yassen had never been allowed near the control room, he knew from the guard's conversations around Julius' escape that it was incredibly well outfitted. They were likely to catch him in the act before he managed to so much as approach. The entrance itself was well locked down too, not considering that the area had seen the bulk of the upgrades since the Grief child had escaped. It seemed that if he wanted to take Alex and make a break for it, his only options were either garnering outside assistance or finding a way to escape in transit. Both had astronomical odds.

Leaving Alex at his cell door, Yassen nodded goodnight to the boy before leaving, a little surprised and a touch relieved to get the same gesture in return. The child's surly behavior had neither been unique nor severe and Yassen had prepared himself for at least a few more days of it. Fortunately, Alex had gradually thawed as the night wore on, either from Yassen's passive attempts to placate him or because he was too tired by this hour to care. Either way, it was convenient to not have to worry about it. He'd begun to think he'd have to make up for yelling by breaking the child out of prison. Despite his determination, the likelihood of that succeeding was suspect.

Yassen swore quietly to himself. Even if this were a Scorpia operation with a host of resources, he still wasn't sure he could break in or out of this place. While he had a decent idea of where the prison was located, he knew that not only was it basically impregnable by itself but it was also surrounded by other military complexes. The amount of tactical support that could be summoned at a moment's notice was unknown, but likely high. Maybe he could have come up with something given enough time, but without any actual information or support….

Popping his back, Yassen moved through a quick series of stretches before lying on his bed, fingers laced together over his stomach. His biggest problem was his lack of intel. He knew they were heavily surveilled but not exactly how and where. If there were blind spots. When suspicious behavior was sent up the channels for a second look. The schedule of the patrolling guards. After all, the weakest part of any security system was the humans. An ambivalent guard could wreak more havoc than any malfunctioning equipment. It was why he never tolerated sloppiness in his underlings.

He knew that they were likely in Gibraltar, but not exactly where, which could impact the pragmatism of their mode of escape. What terrain would he have to deal with even if he could get them both past the entrance?

Shifting atop his comforter, Yassen heard a small crackling beneath him.

He went on high alert. If anyone had been observing him it would have only seemed like he shifted slightly. Twisting slowly, he probed one hand beneath his pillow, fighting even the smallest flicker of a reaction as his fingers encountered a small, folded slip of paper.

How interesting.

Based on the comments around Alex's episodes, he knew the cells were likely monitored using audio and thermal imaging equipment at minimum. Video surveillance was possible but unlikely, given the tamper-proofing he'd seen installed on the various cameras in the common areas. He'd have spotted similar equipment before now if it were being used within his room. After all, the prison made no secret of its watchful gaze. So long as his movements stayed small, there was little chance he'd be discovered.

Returning to his earlier position, he slowly unfolded the paper, eyes zeroing in on the familiar code.

The message was terse. Prepare for extraction in three nights' time, it told him, followed by a tiny silver scorpion.

Yassen let out a slow, steady breath. To anyone listening, it might have sounded like a bored sigh.

This changed things. Yassen crumpled the paper quietly and swallowed it, mind racing. Scorpia had found him.

Yassen was no naive newcomer to the business- in all likelihood, this move was intended to result in his death.

On the surface it appeared good. Preparing him for extraction rather than arranging his premature death would certainly indicate that they intended to recover rather than silence him. However, considering the difficulty it likely took to even find out about the prison, much less get him a note, suggested to Yassen that recovery might be the only real way the organization had to get close enough to him to strike. Their reach here was clearly imperfect: Julius's escape from within the prison had been sloppy, even if his getaway was obviously much more careful. It had to be Scorpia behind the successful escape, given Alex's claims that he shot Julius because Scorpia killed his nanny, and within so short a time frame as the Grief boy's departure. If their reach in this prison was firm, why not arrange for Yassen to escape at the same time as Alex's deranged copy? If Yassen wasn't worth recovering or killing months ago, why now?

No, it was far more likely they simply had one access point and a spotty one at that. Probably a gardener or a maid, who wouldn't have any access to guard level information and no permission to talk to the prisoners, who had never identified Yassen before now.

Why bother retrieving him at all, especially given so many obstacles? While Scorpia did not tolerate failure, Yassen supposed that as a highly requested operative who'd represented Scorpia in several key negotiations, he might be worth the odd concession or two. Even so, Scorpia had several world class assassins on payroll and no way of guaranteeing that Yassen's injuries hadn't permanently crippled him. Even the MI6 doctors had been surprised that he'd recovered with no serious complications, given how dire his condition. Then again, Alex had intimated that Scorpia had been weakened, which could in turn raise Yassen's value to the organization despite his failure with Cray and an unknown health status.

Even with a rosy view of the odds, Yassen couldn't bring himself to trust them. Which brought his mind to the other reason Scorpia's plans were undesirable: Alex.

Those same hints that Scorpia was short-staffed also heavily implied the child's direct involvement. Julia Rothman and Winston Yu were dead, if Alex's information could be relied upon. It didn't matter what role the boy had played, but knowing Alex, it had been both significant and unconcealed.

What he wouldn't give to pump him for more information, but Yassen had no time to waste on wishes. Scorpia did not forget, nor did they forgive. Alex's youth would not save him now any more than it had dissuaded the sniper who'd given him that bullet wound above his heart.

Even if by some miracle Scorpia was desperate enough to ignore Alex's past offenses, they would never tolerate the weakness that implied in Yassen. A physical handicap would be more forgivable in an assassin than an emotional attachment. Attachments meant he could be compromised. As much as he was loathe to admit it, that's what the boy was: getting needlessly shot on the job was proof of that, if not his unwillingness to consider leaving him behind even temporarily now. Assuming Yassen found a way to communicate in advance that Alex would be leaving with him, they were just as likely to force him to execute the child himself in order to prove his commitment to the organization.

No. Scorpia was not a viable option.

Yassen rose swiftly from his bed and grabbed his workout clothes from his dresser. No one would stop him despite the late hour, given his special gym access.

While trusting Scorpia was out of the question, they would provide an opportunity Yassen could take advantage of. Perhaps they'd create enough damage or distraction to the prison that he and Alex could slip away in the confusion. Perhaps he could go along with the extraction before escaping in transit. It was impossible to know in advance what the opportunity would be, but Yassen was certain of one thing: he'd have to be at the top of his game if he was to seize it.

Alex poked his head out of his open door as Yassen passed. "The gym again? Don't tell me you're getting addicted to your runner's high."

Yassen snorted. "Hardly. I just can't sleep."

"Me neither," the boy replied, rubbing his face. "Hold on. I'll get my clothes."

"No." Yassen hesitated, seeing the sudden hurt flicker across Alex's face. In the next few days, it may become critical that Alex go along without question, even if it meant appearing to leap into Scorpia's arms. Even on the best of terms, that was asking a lot of the teen.

"At your age, working out too much can damage your muscles and stunt your growth," he clarified gently. "You can still come and watch television, if you like."

Alex's shuttered expression brightened. "Okay. Sounds better than watching the telly in here anyway."

Yassen waited for the boy to grab his coat and ever-present iPod off his desk. Leaving really was the best option for Alex long term. Even if his mental and physical health never improved, at least he wouldn't be quite so bored all the time. Yassen could arrange that.

A future outside the prison presented its own challenges. He waited as Alex pulled his door shut behind him and followed him down the hall, mentally preparing a list the way he did before every job. It barely scratched the surface of their ever-growing pool of problems, but improvising was a skill Yassen had spent years cultivating.

First, he'd purchase new identities thorough enough to evade detection. He had a few contacts he was confident could pull it off, even as a rush job. Reaching them would be another matter, but it was a problem that could only be sorted in the moment. Next was somewhere semi-permanent to live, out of sight of the majority of government agencies, but close enough to whatever specialists Alex's condition would require long-term. Of course, it would have to also offer some sort of science and engineering boarding school, no matter how much the boy complained. Somewhere Yassen could ensure Alex's enrollment despite any sudden urges to climb flagpoles. A series of charitable donations to the headmaster's coffers, public or private, should achieve that. That sort of knee-jerk corruption narrowed the list down to a few countries, but not impossibly so.

He recalled from Alex's Scorpia file that he spoke three languages already. Hopefully that meant he wouldn't have a hard time picking up Russian…

O

Alex trailed Yassen from the dining hall the next morning, stomach uncomfortably full from the double portion of churros he'd wolfed down with a gusto he was only half embarrassed of. Even if he did get a disbelieving huff from Yassen for eschewing his entire bowl of oatmeal in favor of saving room, it had been worth it. Not even a surge of nausea had stopped him from devouring the sweets. "I can't believe you worked out again this morning," he muttered. "Weren't you the one saying it was bad for the health?"

"No," Yassen corrected him, catching Alex by the arm as he stumbled. Alex begrudgingly admired his reflexes. None of the patrolling guards so much as twitched at the physical contact. "I said it would bad for your height. I'll hardly get any shorter."

Alex steadied himself with a scowl, glaring down at the ground as though it were it's fault he'd lost coordination. He glanced up, past Yassen's shoulder in the direction of the vegetable garden. "Just you wait. Give it a week before you start-"

He froze.

"Alex?" Yassen asked him, a full heartbeat later. "What's wrong?"

Alex realized a second later that he'd clenched Yassen's arm in a white-knuckle grip. "I just- I - that's Agent Crawley," he said, eyes glued on the familiar man striding down the path to the warden's villa. His dark and unremarkable suit was almost impossible for Alex to mistake, even after all this time. Two other men trailed after the MI6 agent: another suit with an earpiece dangling from his head followed by a redhead wearing tan medical scrubs, clutching a file folder. "From MI6," he added lamely.

Yassen glanced between Alex's face and the three figures. "I see," he said, though distantly Alex realized that he stiffened ever so slightly.

Why was Crawley here, of all places? Alex had long grown wary of the man. His presence inevitably heralded oncoming meddling, courtesy of MI6. Alex had never known him in any other context, which begged the question as to why he was present in Alex's afterlife. Was he dead too now? Or just part of his punishment? Alex despised the sight of him, so honestly he thought it could go either way.

Whatever it meant, he doubted it was good.

"I want to sit down," he announced, hardly hearing himself over the ringing in his ears. He forced himself to release Yassen's arm, realizing with a small start that he still had it in his death grip. "I'm tired."

"Alright." Yassen glanced away from Alex to track the three disappearing figures. "We can-"

"Right now," Alex said, hurrying over to the small series of wrought iron benches that bordered the vegetable garden beneath the warden's villa. The sitting area also contained a small series of sculpted spiral hedges, a pet project of the gardener, which would keep them relatively out of the sight of the villa but not the patrolling riflemen. While the sitting area on the other side of the dining hall was arguably closer, Alex had been turned in such a direction that this was the first place in his line of sight that had a sitting area.

Hopefully, it wouldn't raise suspicions.

Yassen settled onto the bench beside him, regarding him warily. "Do you want me to get you anything?"

"No, I just need to sit." Alex hesitated, iPod already half out of his pocket. Maybe Yassen would think it odd that Alex wanted to listen to music after the sudden appearance of not quite strangers. He'd already caught the handful of looks Yassen had given his weirdly reliant behavior surrounding the device before, especially when there was anything to suggest that change might be on the horizon.

Alex stiffened. What if Yassen discovered it's full functionality and realized what he'd been up to this whole time?

His brows furrowed as studied him. Probably nothing, now that he thought about it.

Alex hadn't done anything significant with the information he'd gleaned and Yassen was hardly loyal to anyone here. He couldn't actually imagine Yassen selling him out to the warden. What was the point? While Yassen did have a habit of surprising him from time to time, it was rarely at Alex's expense. Torn, Alex studied the Russian man's face, taking in the clear blue eyes watching him calmly in return. Yassen had indulged him for weeks now. Unless he thought Alex was going to hurt himself, it was unlikely he'd make an issue of anything Alex did.

He turned his iPod over in his hands, gnawing on his lip. Either way, he was gambling with the only resource he had.

Alex quickly tucked one earbud into his right ear, offering Yassen the other. "Listen to this," he said firmly, not breaking eye contact. "It's one of my favorites."

Apart from a long, considering look, Yassen took the earbud without complaint, scooting closer to Alex to avoid pulling on the cord. "If you insist."

Alex was already opening the secret menu, swirling his finger across the touchpad deftly as he selected audio surveillance and began calibrating the sensor for distance. Yassen's eyes never left the tiny screen, though Alex did feel him twitch as the steady thud of the MI6 agents' shoes clarified sharply over the white noise. Alex adjusted the settings to account for the interference with a wince.

A door shut, echoing against the sound of footsteps.

"Why don't you gentlemen have a seat," the warden said. "I hadn't received notice of your arrival until an hour ago, so I'm afraid I haven't prepared the surveillance data your superior requested. It shouldn't take more than a day or so to compile and send along. In fact, I'm a little surprised this warrants an in-person meeting."

"There are other issues to attend to, I'm afraid," Crawley said, voice perfectly bland and perfectly mild. Alex's stomach sank, though he tried to push the sensation away. He knew that voice. "Specifically, I'm here to review and correct several of your decisions regarding Alex Rider."

There was a tense silence.

"Just to be clear, I raised many objections to Alex's incarceration here and our ability to care for him. Not only that, but I have made several requests for additional-" the warden began.

"Regardless of the resources provided to you," Crawley continued. "There are certain matters of your judgement that will need to be considered officially. Tell me, warden: do you regularly assign inmates to attend to other inmates? I'm afraid my superior cannot fathom why you did not assign a member of your medical staff or a guard to monitor the child instead."

The warden's voice was a study in tight, level perfection; the drawing of the string on a verbal bow. Alex got the impression that he'd been prepared for this conversation. "There are several reasons for that particular decision. Our medical staff are already quite busy with their current duties and unavailable after hours. Our guards are similarly engaged and have not been trained in safe child restraint, which led to Alex obtaining moderate injuries during every attempted sedation. Again, I put in several requests designed to rectify both of those deficits, all of which are still pending review by your department. In the meantime, as Alex showed a certain amount of familiarity with prisoner six, and because Six showed an unparalleled ability to administer emergency sedatives without injuring the child-" that last word was emphasized "-during his fits, he was assigned to look after him in exchange for a few small privileges. We've had far fewer issues since. In fact, I would say Alex's condition has improved. Let me assure you, they have been under constant supervision, as the footage Mrs. Jones requested will attest to."

"I certainly hope so," Crawley said mildly, having received the warden's speech without so much as a hint of interruption. "Let's start with one of those points. You mentioned Alex was familiar with prisoner six. Did you inquire as to the reason why?"

"Of course not," the warden snapped. "My instructions regarding prisoner six are very clear. Alex, on the other hand, showed little distress in his presence, or at least less than he showed around the guards. It was a judgement call."

Another careful pause. Alex's stomach sank.

"So you were unaware that you assigned Alex's care to the assassin who murdered the uncle who raised him?" Crawley cleared his throat delicately. "For the record."

The silence was damn near absolute.

Alex snuck a glance at Yassen. The man could have been made of stone.

Crawley seemed to have complete steering power of the conversation now. "As I'm sure you can imagine, despite your best intentions, this creates quite the unsafe and emotionally cruel situation for the child."

The warden found his voice. "Alex never indicated any-"

"And as a minor, he's not responsible to do so, especially not in his mental state. The decision to assign a prisoner to him was out of bounds and should not have been made. We'll speak more about that at length, but for now, we need to move on. Specifically, to your staff and their inability to provide the boy adequate medical care."

"You'll find those concerns outlined in my many, many requests."

"And they have been thoroughly reviewed. Dr. Brett-" there was a short pause, as though introducing someone "-is a psychiatrist specializing in schizophrenic children. Not only is he exceptionally well qualified, but he has extensive experience treating violent and perplexing cases such as Alex's. He will be assigned to him full time and will live on the premises in order to ensure Alex has round the clock support. My superiors are confident he'll be able to provide Alex with top notch treatment."

Alex froze, glancing up at Yassen with naked anxiety. Some stranger was going to be looking after him morning, noon, and night?

Yassen's face tightened. To a casual observer, he might look slightly bored, but to Alex there was something both angry and grim in the lines.

"Fantastic," the warden said, voice clipped. "I'm glad you were finally able to free up the resources."

Crawley ignored the jab. "Additionally, we've reviewed the role of your psychologist, Dr. Wood. Very little in her files indicate that ongoing treatment benefits either the prison's security or the inmates' mental health. We've been in contact with the CIA, who agree that her presence at this facility appears largely unnecessary. While the position is under review, Dr. Wood's assignment has been terminated nonetheless. She will return to their headquarters by tomorrow and conduct any remaining business with you via teleconferencing."

"Understood," the warden said. Alex would have paid good money to see the man's face right now. Not a drop of human emotion to be found, though Alex suspected that was simply a measure of fury. "Is there anything else?"

Crawley sounded downright pleasant, the bastard. "Nurse Scalia's employment is also under review, as it appears that he broke security protocol in his care notes. I'll be investigating this over the next few weeks and will inform you of my final assessment. In the meantime, he will continue his work. While you and I will need to coordinate on several matters over the next several days, there is only one final thing to discuss at this time: the aforementioned prisoner six."

The warden broke in sharply. "Any involvement he might have had with the boy was at my request. He was not in a position to inform me of his history with Alex and I was not in a position to properly ask. Punishing him for a decision I made would be not only pointless, but would erode the other prisoners' confidence in the value of cooperating with us. The responsibility lies with me."

Crawley was thoroughly unruffled. "Undoubtedly," he responded. "There is certainly no need to correct him. However, his presence here conflicts with Alex's ability to receive safe and humane care. As I'm sure you'll also recall, you've had issues maintaining his anonymity. We'll be relocating prisoner six to a different facility tonight. You should receive the details of his transfer any moment now, though I've brought along a physical copy of the orders just in case." There was a sharp shuffling of papers. "Wonderful. Now, let's discuss those security files…."

Alex didn't realize he was sucking in air until his earbud tumbled free from the force of his heaves. He leaned forward, drawing his knees close to his chest as the panic attack slammed into him.

Just as things started to feel okay again, it had to get worse. Why?

One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.

It struck him suddenly, miserably. He never learned, no matter how many times the world hammered the point home. Perhaps Alex had always been destined to be a murderer and a terrible person, perhaps not. Either way, he'd failed to learn from his mistakes. Alex was either shit or poison, and because of that every adult who tried to take care of him would be forced away: Ian, Jack, even that fucking journalist who'd wanted to expose him.

No one was safe from him.

Yassen set a hand on Alex's shoulder, eyes distant as he listened to the conversation still going on in the villa through the earbud. "Mind your breathing. It'll pass."

And that was the real rub here. Alex trusted Yassen, at least as much as he could trust anyone at the moment. He'd only realized that mere minutes ago and hell rained down on them both for it.

Beyond that immediate and harsh judgement lay the stinging heart of the matter: Alex's biggest sin since he arrived.

As much as he hated it, as much as he intellectually fled from the idea, the part of Alex that he'd buried deep, deep down admitted that he kind of liked Yassen. Maybe even more than he'd liked Ian.

Yassen had to go. The universe would not permit him to remain. Even if his sins were worse than Alex's, even though Alex didn't feel like a bad person around him, even if he seemed fine with the mundane limitations that Alex imposed on his life. The Russian had murdered his uncle, his only remaining family, and like a disloyal little shit, Alex had chosen to forget his promise to avenge his uncle because he liked the steady, calm man a little better.

His stomach clenched, tied up in knots.

For all his flaws, Ian had loved Alex. Alex had loved Ian. Alex certainly didn't love Yassen, but he did trust him. Trusted his uncle's killer.

Alex really was the worst.

"Is he alright?" a voice called. One of the guards.

"Panic attack," Yassen called. He turned back to Alex, who was stubbornly fighting tears. The older man wound his headphones around the iPod and tucked it back into Alex' front pocket, avoiding his eyes. At least this time he didn't try and smother Alex in blankets. "They're coming out any second now, little Alex. Let's get back you back to your room before they see you like this, hm?"

Alex sucked in air and nodded, keeping his eyes on the ground. His breathing was still wild and erratic, but strong enough to keep him steady on his feet. He allowed Yassen to lead him out of the sitting area towards the cell block. As they reached his cell, Alex lay down on his bed, facing the window away from Yassen. "Every time things get better, they always get worse," he whispered.

"Bad and good things come and go. There's no intent behind random chance, Alex."

Alex snorted in his pillow, a wetter sound than he liked. "No, it's because I relax and then I fuck up."

"Language." A hand settled on his shoulder. "You haven't done anything. Try to believe me: your sins are not that great."

"Yes, they are," Alex countered, half muffled by his pillow. Despair drained him now that whatever adrenaline his panic attack inspired faded. He could almost fall asleep, though too much nervous energy coiled in the pit of his stomach to make him believe that would actually happen. "I'm sorry. You're being punished too and it's m'fault."

Yassen sighed. "We can discuss it later. I have to do something, but I'll be back soon."

He probably had to pack, Alex realized glumly, shutting his eyes and feeling himself drift off. Maybe his body had overridden his brain and he could sleep away the panic. Yassen might not even have time to say goodbye, though Alex didn't really want to. What could he possibly say to the man? Sorry I liked you even though I wasn't supposed to?

He snorted, dimly aware that he'd spoken that last part aloud.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Here's this week's chapter! It's a lot of Yassen's POV, but I'm sure that won't be too much of a problem until next week. Things are really heating up, no?
> 
> To answer one of my ffnet questions (sorry it took so long!) there are about 23 chapters planned for this story. The sequel isn't done, but I'd say it's at least as long, if not a bit longer. Still trying to pick the right title for it, though. :/ Of course, now my brain is almost equally committed to doing a third installment, because of course it is, and I have no idea how long that monstrosity might amount to.
> 
> As always, I love hearing your thoughts and predictions! It really helps me know if I'm on the right track. Also, if you think I've gotten any details wrong or might have missed something, point it out. I'd much rather catch this stuff sooner than later. :)

Yassen kept his pace steady and quick, careful to maintain a relaxed appearance. The guards might be used to seeing him more than any other prisoner, but without his teenage shadow trailing after him he might still draw unwanted attention. His window of opportunity was too small to allow for interruptions.

Yassen had suffered through enough meetings and reviews in his time to gauge the natural pace most followed. He'd felt a touch uneasy about rushing Alex to his room in the midst of a panic attack only to abandon him there, but he couldn't count on having more than one shot at catching Crawley in person. A formally requested meeting might take hours or even days to set up. Now was the only time. Fortunately, the boy seemed inclined to sleep, as per usual, so hopefully Yassen could take his opportunity and be back before he woke.

That iPod gadget had been a bit of a shock. At least now he knew why the boy was rarely surprised by anything. How had Yassen not seen it before? Personally ambivalent about music, he'd simply chalked up Alex's attachment to the device as either a preoccupation of his age or as a reliance on a comfort item. Now Yassen found himself struggling to recall every conversation they'd ever had, trying to pick out where Alex had seem unusually well-informed. Where had Alex even gotten such a device, much less sneak it into possibly one of the most secure prisons in the world?

He couldn't suppress his small snort. That was the thing about Alex.

The three men followed the warden down the dusty, winding path, slowed slightly by the tour the warden was clearly giving for the benefit on the man in the tan scrubs.

Alex's new carer. Yassen twisted his lips. He would be the first to admit that Alex was in dire need of competent medical care, but he somehow doubted any MI6 lackey would be able to provide it without caving to the agency's demands. The spy agency's interests seemed diametrically opposed with Alex's.

Yassen didn't slow as he approached. He watched as the warden broke off mid-sentence and the two agents tensed. All along the perimeter, the patrolling riflemen went on high alert, seeing a potentially dangerous prisoner approaching both the warden and his three important guests.

Julius Grief's escape was still within the year after all. Mistakes would not be tolerated a second time.

"Six?" the warden called. "Do we have a problem?"

Yassen halted ten feet from the group, not even bothering to glance at the others. He locked eyes with the boring looking man. "Crawley, I'll assume."

The riflemen closed in, though Yassen had yet to do anything violent. The warden flicked out a few hand signals, which Yassen guessed meant some variation of "wait and see".

The drab looking man gave a thin, almost absent smile and nodded. "Ah, Mr. Gregorovich. Pleased to meet you in person at last. I've heard a lot about your work. Actually, I was going to request a meeting with you in about an hour to discuss the details of your transfer."

Yassen narrowed his eyes, ignoring the startled glance the warden shot the agent. He doubted the warden recognized his name and was merely responding to the sudden unveiling of secrecy. Yassen had no doubt that Crawley intended to transfer him immediately following their meeting.

"Tell your masters I'll give you Scorpia," he announced.

A flicker of shock, quickly suppressed, flitted through the man's empty eyes. He cleared his throat and waved a small questioning hand. "My, that's a bold offer. Why the sudden change of heart?"

Yassen didn't so much as blink. "That's not important."

Crawley studied him. "I disagree. You've had months to come forward. Why today?"

"Perhaps you'd like to question me formally. It has the potential to be a very productive conversation." Yassen gave the man a pointed look. "Call your masters. Make the deal."

"In exchange for?"

"Alex," Yassen said, voice expressionless. Intellectually he realized he was already revealing far more than he liked: what someone wanted was often more than enough to put them at a disadvantage. Let them guess his motivations. It wasn't as though he understood them entirely himself. "There's either no transfer or we go to a new facility together. Non-negotiable."

Crawley shrugged, but there was a sudden tension in his shoulders. Yassen knew it was a gamble: approaching Crawley with such a specific requirement suggested that Yassen had at least suspected the transfer in advance. So far he'd left it ambiguous as to whether he believed it was him or Alex who'd be moved. It'd take some maneuvering to avoid mentioning Alex's little gadget, but it could be done.

"I'll send it through the proper channels and keep you updated."

Yassen couldn't afford to wait weeks. Even if he didn't understand the creeping tendrils of attachment that had wound around him, he didn't really have to. He only had to defend it, this new part of him that was somehow worthy of both his derision and utmost regard in equal measures. Once Alex had sleepily uttered his own admission, Yassen had known, with no small amount of dread, that he'd do whatever it took to prevent Alex suffering through another bizarre self-imposed sense of punishment. Weeks or months without Yassen's intervention could result in a whole new host of delusions and self destructive behavior.

It definitely hadn't pleased him in an oddly warm way. Certainly not.

Tonight Scorpia planned to extract him. After a year a half of nothing, of course their timing would be bad to the point of bordering on ironic. If it was indeed irony. Something told Yassen that either MI6 had gotten wind of Scorpia's plans or vice versa. Regardless, Yassen had no choice but to buy time, to either stall and wait for Scorpia or broker a deal with MI6. Both options were almost guaranteed to end poorly, but as it stood, he had next to no moves.

Taking action would shake things up and hopefully provide an opportunity. He'd just have to adapt.

"No." Yassen tilted his head ever so slightly, not allowing his expression to flicker in the least. "You'll have an answer for me tonight if you want my information. If Alex and I are held in separate facilities for even a day, the deal is off. Find yourself another high ranking operative to divulge over a decade's worth of intel if you think you can."

"You seem awfully confident your intel is worth your price," Crawley responded, tucking his hands into his the pockets of his slacks and glancing around the sunny, flower studded landscape.

"The price is nothing to you," Yassen countered, without bothering to address the jab to the value of his information. Turning his back to them, he began walking back down the path he'd come. "The gains are enormous. Tonight, or no deal."

 

 

He found Alex napping in his cell. Hovering in the doorway, he debated the merits of waking the boy. On the one hand, there was a decent chance they'd both be transported tonight, so Alex might do well to take advantage of the rest now. On the other, there was just as good a chance that MI6 would require Alex to be sedated for transport. If he wasn't, Alex's nap would only serve to keep him wide awake into the wee hours of the morning, confusing his already chemically scrambled sleep cycles.

They would leave this prison together, of that Yassen had no doubt.

Gripping Alex's shoulder gently and leaning back (sometimes he'd flail violently awake if touched, another delightful remnant of his spy work), Yassen shook him until reluctant brown eyes cracked open and immediately scrunched shut again. "Get up," he told the boy. "You won't sleep tonight if you nap all afternoon."

"I don't care," the boy muttered. "Just let me sleep forever."

That had an edge to it that Yassen didn't like. Not that he thought the boy was suicidal, but he had to admit that probably had more to do with the fact that Alex already thought he was dead. He shook Alex again, before standing and drawing back the oatmeal colored curtains, flooding the room with daylight. "Wake up. We'll do whatever you want, just get out of bed."

Alex groaned and flipped towards the open door, yanking a pillow over his head to shield it. "I don't want to do anything."

"How about video games?" Yassen snatched a controller from beneath the TV and dropped it on the covers beside Alex. He prodded at the console until he inevitably chanced across the power button. "Just one round."

"You don't even like playing," Alex grumbled, even as he sat upright and took the controller in hand. He squinted as his eyes struggled to focus in the light. Glancing at Yassen, his eyes widened, entire body tightening as though electrified. A choked sound ripped itself from his throat.

Yassen tensed. Another panic attack. "What?"

Alex swallowed, face ashen "Do you-" he cleared his throat, scooting back against his headboard as if it would support him. He released the small black controller, clapping his fingers over his ears. Curled in on himself as though assaulted by phantom noise before he forcibly removed them. "Do you feel alright?" he croaked.

Yassen raised an eyebrow and looked down himself. Same white t-shirt and blue jeans he'd put on that morning. Nothing at all out of place. "I feel fine. Why wouldn't I?"

Alex blinked, eyes flicking to his duvet and then back up to Yassen as though he didn't dare tear his gaze away for more than a split-second. He winced, face creasing in pain. "Fuck," he growled. "This is a new one."

"A new hallucination?" Yassen asked, cautiously walking to stand beside Alex's bed. He'd never been directly involved in the content of Alex's most stressful memories, much to his surprise and fortune. Not that the thought reassured him. Part of him wished that being tossed into a live bull-fight had made it into the top ten worst experiences Alex had ever had.

He sighed. His luck must have run out. "What is it this time?"

Alex squeezed his eyes shut, face scrunching in agony. "It's because you're going away."

Understanding struck Yassen. Alex had been staring at his shirt. The options were fairly limited, given that he'd encountered the boy maybe four times before prison had forced them into close proximity. "You think I'm bleeding out, aren't you? Like on the plane." He glanced again at Alex, noting the hands digging into his hair and clenching. "Do you want me to go away? For a few minutes, anyway."

Alex ripped his eyes open, lasering in on Yassen's rib cage. "No. I have to see you."

Yassen studied him. "You keep shutting your eyes. I don't think you want to."

Alex scowled, squinting again. "I have to. You called me over and I have to come. My head hurts from where Cray hit me with his gun and the air is rushing louder than anything I'e ever heard and we're falling. I'm close to passing out but I can't yet because you called me over."

Yassen sighed. "So pass out. I take it back."

"I'll miss what you have to say," Alex insisted, breath picking up.

Yassen glanced around the room, wincing internally. There was little need to protect his identity anymore, given that Crawley at least seemed certain that he'd be leaving tonight. Even so, the idea of even more of their mutual history ending up as a sound byte on an MI6 hard drive was unappealing. Especially something this personal. "I've already told you what I had to say then. I'll tell you again later, if you like."

"I know that," the boy snapped. "But that's not how it feels."

Of course it didn't.

With a grimace, Yassen sat on the edge of the bed, staying carefully in Alex's line of sight as well as the open door, should any curious guards wander past. "Fine. What will make you feel better? I don't think you can climb your way out of this."

"I don't know." Alex's voice tightened. "But I have to listen to whatever you have to say, even if I don't want to. I know it's not real but it feels like it is."

Yassen stifled the urge to repeat himself. He had nothing he wanted to say to the boy. Alex understood that, obviously, but he was too twisted up in the memory to ignore the urges and pain of that one frozen moment in time. Like most of Alex's hallucinatory flashbacks, there was likely very little either of them could do about it except wait for it to end.

Alex's maths textbook sat on his bedside table. Yassen hefted it in one hand and flipped it open to a random page. Something theoretical would probably be better than something practical, since Yassen wasn't sure he could walk him through an equation at the moment anyway. "Well, if you don't have any choice but to listen, you're going to listen to maths."

Somehow the boy found it in himself to scowl, a hint of a whine creeping into his voice. "Seriously? But I've already done it."

"That's too bad," Yassen told him without an ounce of sympathy. "But it seems you're at the mercy of whatever book is on hand. You can never have enough review."

"I promise you can," Alex grumbled, scooting closer to Yassen. His eyes flicked back to Yassen's rib cage uneasily as the older man flipped to the beginning of the chapter. With a wince, the boy removed both hands from his head and pressed them against Yassen's shirt. Beneath the cotton lay an old bullet wound and myriad of surgical scars, still fading.

Yassen raised an eyebrow, but didn't object. Something warm threatened to flicker inside him for the second time that day.

This time, Alex wanted to stop the bleeding and save him.

Refocusing harshly, he read the chapter intro aloud, pausing over a handful of terms that were wholly unfamiliar to him. Scorpia's math and science lessons had been over a decade ago and Yassen had been more focused on the skills meant to keep him alive. The odd words turned out to be a boon. Every time he awkwardly stumbled over a term, it drew Alex enough out of his bleary, panicked silence to correct him.

Alex snorted after the fifth time it happened, eyes still screwed shut. "Can't you just sound it out?"

"You say this as though English has consistent pronunciation rules," Yassen scoffed, turning the page and quickly scanning it for which parts he should skip. He doubted Alex had enough attention to spare looking at any of the graphs anyway. "I won't even get into regional dialects."

"Yes, it does. You should learn them sometime," Alex said, smirking. "Then you won't call asymptotes ahy-simp-totes."

"Hush, little Alex." Yassen swatted at him, just enough to make the boy open his eyes and refocus. "I've been speaking English longer than you've been alive."

Boots in the hallway. Yassen heard them a few seconds before there was a quick series of raps on the open door. Mateo, the head guard, nodded to him. "This looks new. Another hallucination?"

"That's right," Yassen told him, turning slightly. Alex leaned forward, adding extra pressure to phantom bullet wound. "He won't require sedation. It'll pass."

"I'll take painkillers," Alex tried, eyes a little too hopeful. "If anyone's offering."

They both ignored him.

"If you say so," Mateo agreed, not taking his eyes off Yassen. "Actually, I was told to bring you to the warden's office immediately. You have a meeting that's been arranged with one of the agents visiting, apparently."

MI6 was ready to bite. Of course they were.

Yassen turned back the way he'd been facing and flicked to the next page of the textbook. Alex's shudders had minimized, but every so often his face would blank in such a way that Yassen was certain he couldn't actually hear him. It could easily be another forty minutes before it passed completely. "I'm busy at the moment. Either they can wait or Crawley can speak with me here."

Mateo hesitated, but only for a split second. He grabbed his radio off his belt, though it was probably a moot point. Yassen had no doubt that they were actively being observed in the control room. "I'll pass that along, but I have my orders."


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: We're getting closer and closer to the end, which is both exciting and making me a little nervous. The sequel is getting longer and longer by the day, despite my hope that I'd be able to finish editing it by the time I finished posting this. Keep your fingers crossed for me. ;)
> 
> As always, I love to hear your thoughts and feedback. Not only is it a nice boost, but it helps me know if each scene is accomplishing what it should.
> 
> Happy Monday, everyone!

Briar threw her bobblehead collection into a banker's box one of the secretaries had found. Agent Scully's plastic red hair chipped slightly as it knocked against Admiral Adama's standing base, but she found it hard to care. As soon as the secretary skittered out of sight, face twisted in something like ghoulish amusement, Briar quickly slammed her door shut and yanked out the little day planner from her purse. There was no time to be irritated with bitch secretaries who thought she was finally being let go for incompetence.

Actually, it was quite the opposite for once, not that Too-Much-Eyeliner-Lida would appreciate the irony.

A message from Smithers waited for her. Sweeping past it without reading, she quickly scribbled, _Position terminated for asking too many questions. Possibly compromised. Will contact you as soon as possible._

She grabbed a handful of pens with her free hand and hurled them into the box. It was important she look like she was packing her office and not committing what was likely something akin to treason. Actually, was it really treason if she wasn't British? She had signed a bunch of stuff she hadn't looked to closely at when she'd been transferred here. Mostly regarding the secrecy of the prison itself. If it wasn't treason, it was probably close enough.

It had been only three days since Smithers contacted her, starting off their flurry of communications with each other as they tried to gather as much information as possible. Three days to try and figure out what she could do to help Alex. She hadn't had much luck. Even if she could get Scalia onboard and trust him with Smithers' info, that still left the problem of the verification process they demanded for the injections themselves. Shipping the needles back wasn't foolproof: obviously, they could prick him with them without deploying the drug, get his DNA all over the needle, and empty the drug back into the bottle. However, that would require not just the nurse's full cooperation, but Alex's as well. Hell, Yasha didn't bother leaving the room during his treatments now, so he'd also have to be in on it too.

Now, it was moot. She would be escorted off the premises in forty minutes.

Briar was out of time to help Alex. Panic and regret burned within her. Who else could possibly do anything for the kid? The same British spook who'd just fired her in the blandest of terms had also mentioned that Scalia and the warden were now under review. He hadn't said it outright, but Briar got the distinct impression that he'd be staying on site to supervise and otherwise make a nuisance of himself. Even if she could somehow garner the entire prison staff's secret cooperation, there'd be little they could do to conceal it from Crawley.

The only other person that left to help Alex was Yasha and his influence over Alex's medication regimen was even less than hers. He would probably still try, she supposed. Briar was pretty sure the distant assassin had a genuine attachment to the kid despite his aloof attitude. Contract killer or not, the guy was still a mammal, and mammals had a hardwired tendency get attached to the things that needed them. Millions of years of evolution had seen to that. Maybe she would have doubted it if he'd had some sort of personality disorder, but Yasha wasn't even a garden variety sociopath; he lacked all of the markers. Sociopaths at least had heightened self interest to go with their lack of concern for others, but Briar got the impression that Yassen simply had emotionally shut down at some point in his life. She'd sat through enough two-word therapy sessions to tell that much without a fucking degree. He'd take Alex's care seriously, even if he couldn't do much with the information she could give him.

Smithers' new message. Right.

She'd nearly forgotten about it, lost as she was in her dismissal. Maybe he'd found another solution? She pulled it up quickly, hoping to at least scan it before she had to find somewhere safe to both update the man and self-destruct the evidence.

_Dr. Wood,_

_I'm afraid I must be brief. In order to get this information, I put myself in a rather precarious position. Nothing I can't handle, of course, but I've left quite the trail to tidy before I can contact you again._

_First, I must address a lingering suspicion of mine. You mentioned Yasha, Alex's inmate carer, several times over our communications. While the name didn't initially ring any bells, when you mentioned those strange blood tests your nurse complained about, I'm afraid it got me curious. It was just too coincidental for my tastes. Naturally, I did a little digging, and I'm afraid I'm quite concerned by what I've found. Based off of Alex's history, the fact that he knows this man, and some general time frames, I believe that Yasha is in fact Yassen Gregorovich, the very same contract killer who murdered Alex's uncle and surrogate parent, Ian Rider._

_Believe it or not, we have bigger problems._

Briar froze, blinking as her brain nearly rejected the sudden influx of information. The very same assassin? Yet Alex was so content to trail after him, complaining about the man's nagging and fussing over his health.

Christ.

She returned her eyes to the message. She'd need at least a week to unpack the rest of that fucked up dynamic.

_It seems that Yassen himself might be in danger, aside from being a high-value prisoner. In fact, the current plan is to relocate him tonight- agents are en route as I type this. There have been some complications concerning his files. We may not know where the breach is, but it only takes a whiff of smoke to identify the problem of a fire._

_One of MI6's moles in the Russian government indicated that their intelligence agencies are trying desperately to locate Yassen- or at least samples of his blood. Naturally, MI6 had to investigate. Our agency had only small samples obtained for DNA analysis, hence the blood tests your nurse friend had ordered so unexpectedly. Upon further inspection, our scientists were able to isolate an unknown series of antibodies in his bloodstream. Whatever they are, there's no doubt that they are of great interest to our enemies in the intelligence world._

_What's really interesting is that we had no idea the Russians had stolen the CIA's samples of Gregorovich's blood in the first place. MI6's custody of him was supposed to be a total secret, but it seems the situation is worse than feared. Evidently the Russians have been studying his blood for months and only recently begun searching for him in earnest. MI6's trail was too well hidden, so there'd been no breakthroughs until recently. A Scorpia mole within MI6 saw a suspicious name pop up in the notes of one of Alex's medical files and alerted his superiors. We've yet to apprehend that particular leak, by the way, but without that happening, our Russian mole would have never mentioned the research into his blood. If that hadn't happened, MI6 wouldn't be so determined to re-hide him again for their own study._

_Ironic, no? If Yassen hadn't killed Alex's uncle, Alex wouldn't have become a child spy. If he hadn't become a child spy, he would have never gotten Yassen shot in the field. If Alex hadn't gotten Yassen shot (it's a long story, check his files if you have access) and sent to prison, no one would have gotten a sample of his blood to begin with. If Yassen hadn't agreed to monitor Alex in prison, his name would have never ended up in that report. If karma is real, it seems to be looking to extract vengeance on behalf of Ian Rider through his nephew. All philosophical dawdling aside, you must understand that Yassen is in great danger: we've confirmed that both Scorpia and the Russian government are now (quite literally!) out for his blood. If Yassen's life is at risk, that means that by proxy, so is Alex's._

_Contact me as soon as possible. We must find a way to account for this in our plans._

Briar stared at the message, dumbfounded. It was almost too much to absorb, but she didn't really have a choice.

She had to act.

Grabbed a notebook from her desk drawer, banker box forgotten. She had maybe thirty minutes left before a guard came to escort her off the property and she had to use it well. Scribbling frantically, she outlined as much of Alex's condition, his medications, and the added complications of the hormonal blockers as quickly as possible. Having completed that, she added a quick note about the problem with the blood samples, antibodies, and the four agencies involved. Finishing up with a sharp YOU'RE BOTH IN DANGER, she ripped the sheets free and folded them quickly.

Now how was she supposed to get them to either Alex or Yassen?

Cringing, she decided she would just have to trust Yassen to take care of Alex. The kid just couldn't do it alone. It was far from ideal, but there was no time to do anything else except trust her instincts. His behavior and care of Alex was too thorough to be anything but genuine. It was possible that he had manipulated her perception of the situation and had put on one hell of a show, but it was unlikely. What was the point? He, like most people, assumed her incompetence stemmed from a lack of observation rather than implementation and likely hadn't bothered. Even if he had, she doubted he could fake reluctant concern like this for so long, so convincingly. If Alex was in danger, it wouldn't be from him.

Maybe Yassen wouldn't be able to do anything for the kid anyway, given the sheer magnitude of both of their problems. His hands would soon be tied when he was transported elsewhere, but what else could she do but warn them?

O

Head throbbing and breaths heaving, Alex found himself only distantly capable of embarrassment as Agent Crawley appeared with his entourage to find the teeenager half slumped atop Yassen, applying pressure the man's undamaged rib cage. Alex shut his eyes, focusing on his breathing. He was too tired to even begin to explain, much less accept the sudden intrusive presences hovering at the threshold of his cell with good grace.

One, two, three, four….

Crawley cleared his throat, interrupting Yassen's reading mid-sentence. "Alex, how good to see you. You're looking…".

Even though he still felt as though he were in free fall, hurtling impossibly fast towards the ground as the wind rushed around him, Alex still found it within him to shoot the other man a glare and drawl, "Crazy? Yes, I'd rather picked up on that."

Yassen snapped the book shut with a side glance at Alex. The Russian still looked deathly pale to him as he had that fateful day on the plane, eyes as clear and empty as a thin coat of ice over a frozen pond. He damn near looked undead. "I suppose we're not getting through much more revision. Still need to listen?"

Alex glanced at the men standing in his doorway and reluctantly nodded. "Yeah. It hasn't gone away."

"There should be plenty to listen to," Yassen told him, shifting on the bed to face Crawley, forcing Alex to scoot forward to avoid releasing the wound. Just because he couldn't actually feel the blood under his fingertips (he'd never actually touched Yassen on the plane) didn't mean he could just let himself watch it pool. Yassen nodded to the men in the doorway. "I assume the deal has been approved."

Crawley gave a short nod. "Preliminarily, yes. We'll need some official statements before we transfer you to a more secure facility, as well as confirm a handful of details. Dr. Brett, if you could just take Alex-"

"Alex can stay," Yassen cut in, expression flat and dangerous. "It concerns him. Let me make it excessively clear: I wasn't bluffing."

Bluffing? Alex looked between the two of them, struggling to keep up under the onslaught of the throbbing pain.

"Yes, yes," Crawley agreed, eyes flicking back to Alex. "Transfer together or the deal's off. However, Alex will need to meet with the warden to be apprised of the relevant details before he can be transferred. Dr. Brett can escort him there now. After all, since the doctor will be accompanying you to care for Alex at your new facility, it seems like this might be a good chance for the two of them to get to know each other."

Alex looked back to Yassen, chest clenching with something like terrified hope, fingers loosening against the white cotton of his shirt. Maybe he shouldn't be so surprised. Yassen had half-told him he'd be willing to look after him forever, in the midst of giving him shit about not thinking about the future.

But how? What kind of deal had he struck while Alex was asleep?

Yassen shot the redheaded clinician an unimpressed look. "Perhaps, but now isn't a good time. As I'm sure you've observed, Alex is preoccupied."

"With what, exactly?" Crawley asked, pointedly glancing at Alex's hands.

The boy himself stiffened, but refused to remove them. He didn't care how it looked. It helped a little and so long as Yassen was alright with it, MI6 could go fuck themselves. He scowled at the agent who might technically be referred to as his handler. "I know he's not actually bleeding, but it helps."

"A hallucination, I take it?" The redheaded man crossed his arms and gave Yassen a frosty look, butting in for the first time. He had just the faintest hint of a Scottish brogue. "I know you mean well, Mr. Gregorovitch, but this is why you shouldn't deliver treatment without proper training. You should have never indulged his hallucinations like this. You're only supporting his irrational responses, not encouraging healthy coping skills."

"It. Helps," Alex said through gritted teeth, glaring at the man who was supposedly going to follow him around all the time now. Motherfucker. Hell was sure upping its game. He glanced again at the contract killer beside him. If he didn't have to deal with the stupid doctor alone, maybe it would be alright anyway. "Sod off."

Dr. Brett frowned at that, though Crawley didn't bat so much as an eyelash. He was used to Alex after all.

"No, Alex," the redheaded man said firmly. "I understand that this is frustrating, but you can't just avoid the problem. Now, I know it's distressing to have an episode, but you're alert. You clearly know what is real and what is not, even if the hallucination persists. You can control yourself, but it will take practice. You will be uncomfortable and perhaps frightened at first. That's perfectly natural."

Alex glowered at him, feeling his hackles rise even further. Dr. Brett was just like the other doctors. They wanted him to ignore the hallucinations, to pretend like he felt fine no matter what his reality actually was. Most importantly, they just wanted him to behave. Everyone just wanted him to fucking behave- no matter how dire it felt, no matter how real the memory of pain traveling along his nerve endings- they just wanted him to stop climbing on furniture or disrupting others or make them fill out paperwork.

Didn't they realize that Alex couldn't just look peril in the face and do nothing? Wasn't that what had made him so valuable to MI6 in the first place? He'd been trying to kill the take-action part himself for months and the only time he'd managed to achieve enough apathy to fake it, it was through a pill bottle, sanctioned or otherwise. There was no way that dressing it up as "healthy coping skills" was going to make it any more likely to work.

Yes, this was going to be hell.

Yassen shook his shoulder. "How's the pain?"

He glanced back at Yassen, tempted to ask him to work Dr. Brett's departure into the deal. Tantalizing, but pointless. He'd only be replaced by a different doctor with the same shit attitude. Instead, the pressure in his head eased a little as he studied the calm blue eyes looking back at him.

"It's letting up." Alex peeled his hands back from the other man and peeked beneath them before replacing them. "You're still bleeding, through."

"Can you feel the blood?" Yassen asked him.

Dr. Brett scoffed. "That's irrelevant to-"

"No," Alex admitted. "I just wanted to do something to stop it."

"I think you have," Yassen told him. "Check again."

Alex gave him a flat look. He had limits to how far he'd go with playacting, but he pulled his hands back obediently. Red blood stained the shirt beneath him, but didn't seem to be spreading anymore. Yassen's skin also seemed to have returned to a healthier shade of pale, though his eyes seemed as colorless as before. Oh well. At least he didn't seem to be actively dying anymore. He dropped his hands, blowing air past his lips in a rush. If anything, the prolonged conversation had provided him with some distraction, though he was half tempted to lie about it. The stupid doctor would probably think his stupid speech was the reason, that his "truth" had gotten through. "You're still bleeding, just not as much."

Yassen nodded at him. "Good. Are you well enough to go see the warden?"

Of course. Yassen would never let him get out of doing the shit he was supposed to, even if he was more lenient about how. Nag, nag, nag.

Alex grimaced. "We transfer together?" he found himself asking in return.

"Yes."

Crawley shifted by the door, most likely not wanting Yassen to make promises.

Yassen seemed certain he could keep it though. Alex studied him for any hint of a lie, any reason to not get his hopes up. He found nothing. Sighing, he slid his legs off the bed and pulled out his iPod from his pockets. "Okay. If I have to. Let's go, Dr. Bastard."

Alex shoved his way past the small cluster of people in the doorway, pointedly ignoring Dr. Brett's gentle admonishment. The redheaded man trailed after Alex, who didn't wait as he tucked his earbuds in. The doctor tapped him twice on the shoulder to try to engage him in conversation as they left the cell block, but Alex ignored him both times. Yassen's chat with Crawley had likely already begun, but he couldn't get a lock on the right sounds without removing his iPod from his pocket. Brett was watching him far too closely for him to comfortably give that a shot.

Fortunately, the walk to the warden's was a short one.

As they made their way down the path that looped around the dining hall, Alex saw Briar leaving the administrative building in the distance. Her gait seemed agitated, at least enough to make him slow and look more carefully. Waving, she clutched a small box to her hip as she hurried towards him, one of the guards trailing after her.

"There you are!" she said, stopping in front of him. "I was hoping to see you before I left."

Alex stared at the box with a flare of unhappiness. Even if he was transfering, he hadn't realized that he'd at least gotten kind of used to seeing the absent minded American lady every day. He might even miss her; she wasn't a good therapist by any stretch of his imagination, but she had been nice in her own way. They hadn't finished the Jersey Shore yet. "Are you leaving too?"

She nodded, thrusting the box into Saunders's hands.

The young guard balked, glancing uneasily at Alex. He'd diligently avoided being around Alex ever since he'd gotten that concussion from hitting a table on his second day. Alex had been happy to do likewise. "Um, Doctor, we really should go straight to the checkpoint-"

Briar waved a vague hand, shuffling something in the other. Alex was the only one who probably noticed. "Of course, of course. I just wanted to say goodbye to my favorite patient." She reached forward, wrapping her arms around the boy, and almost lifted him off the ground with the force of her hug. "Good bye, Alex! I hope you do well at your new facility!" she announced, slipping something folded into his pocket.

Dr. Brett scoffed and muttered something about an "utter lack of professionalism".

Alex smiled back at her, curious enough to support the ruse and more than a little spiteful. "I'll miss you," he said, hugging her back.

"Show Yassen," she whispered in his ear, covering the motion by patting his back and declaring, "Oh, but I'll miss you more. Besides, I'm sure you'll love your new therapist. Just you wait." She pulled away and took the load back from the unwilling Saunders.

"Doubt that. Drive safe," he told her, waving as the guard managed to drag her away. His entire chest cavity seemed to have hollowed itself out and it took everything he had not to show so much as a flicker of it.

She'd used Yassen's real name.

"Dr. Wood, I presume," Dr. Brett muttered, as though not really expecting him to answer.

He was correct in both assumptions. Alex popped his earbud back in and diligently went back to listening to his iPod as they finished the rest of the journey to the warden's villa. His mind roved between thoughts endlessly. What could Dr. Wood possibly want to give him? He couldn't look at it now, of course, lest Dr. Brett take an interest (and Alex didn't doubt that he would). What did it have to do with Yassen? Last Alex had checked, she was investigating the stupid injections. And why did it have to be a secret? She had been very clear that she'd make his treatment discreet whenever it had to go on the record, but she'd also been candid with Scalia and the warden. Obviously, she hadn't been too worried about what she said inside the prison walls before. As far as Alex knew, nothing had changed. What could warrant this level of deceit?

His thoughts raced, his fingers turning the thick square of folded paper in his pocket as he walked.

As soon as they were buzzed in, Alex nodded to Mateo and asked to use the loo, pointedly giving the man far more respect than he was ever willing to consider offering the good doctor. The visible irritation this provoked from the man was certainly worth it. To be fair, Alex usually made a point out of being polite to the staff members that weren't unkind to him during his hallucinations. He just had the feeling that Dr. Brett's kindness wasn't going to be the kind Alex could handle. As soon as he had locked himself into the small restroom, however, he dug out the paper and unfolded it without sparing either of them a thought.

A minute later, the paper wrinkled, clutched in shaking hands.

It couldn't be true. It wasn't fucking possible.

Alex struggled to keep his breathing under control, the hormone-blocker-exacerbated anxiety kicking in- no.

No, that wasn't true. That'd be too easy. Thoughts like those invited hope, hope that his condition wasn't actually that bad or somehow not his fault. Wouldn't that be lovely? An escape from the guilt of his crimes. Exactly the sort of tempting thought that Hell would throw out at him, to test his willingness to be properly punished. Hope was for the unrepentant.

Or was it the truth? The thought tasted forbidden, but Alex couldn't quite shove it away.

If it was true that MI6 had secretly dosed him with something, then Alex was avoiding the solution to a concrete and fixable problem. Something that would make his life, or un-life or whatever it was, incomprehensibly better. Maybe he couldn't have his normal life back, but perhaps he could have his mind.

Unless it was a trap. Or a test.

Tears pricked at his eyes. Pressing his clenched fist against his mouth, he fought a small sob. He so wanted to believe it was true, but didn't quite dare, despite the thick brick of hope choking him as his eyes raced over the words again and again and again. Alex knew better than to fully trust himself, not the way he'd been lately. His thoughts were so jumbled, his emotions so tangled. He hardly understood what was written here, what it all meant, hardly understood the stuff about Yassen at the end….

Yassen.

Alex swallowed and forced himself to release his death grip on the papers. Maybe it was misguided and horrible of him, but Alex trusted Yassen. Even more so now that he knew that Yassen was probably selling his soul to keep them together, to ensure Alex didn't get shoved off on someone who didn't care about his future the way he'd seemed to fear a week ago. If Alex couldn't trust his own judgement, maybe he could trust Yassen's. The man was certainly objective and irritatingly unafraid of bad news. At the very least, this was something Yassen might want to know, something that Briar wanted him to know, even if it ended up not being true.

One, two, three, four….

Alex took a deep breath and steadied himself as he re-folded the paper and buried in deep in his pocket. Quickly using the loo in order to keep up appearances, he tried to prepare himself mentally. He had to chat with the warden like nothing was really wrong, like he was just surprised and confused about the transfer.

His mind was made up. Yassen would have to decide for them both if Alex's little mystery had been solved.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! Special note this week: I'll be posting another chapter on Friday. As it turns out, Guepard54 is my long lost twin and for our birthday, I'll be adding another chapter ahead of time. Seems appropriate, no?
> 
> Also, thanks for pointing that out for me, Niamh x. I didn't even spot that! I'll have to go back and fix that in previous chapters. Evidently, my spell check is adamant that "Crawley" couldn't possibly be a name and has been autocorrecting to "Crowley" for some time now. Which is super weird, because it's also convinced Yassen is named "Yaseen", but hasn't done the same to him. MI6 just gets no love, I guess. ^^
> 
> Another small issue, however. I know I promised this story would have around 22/23 chapters, but it seems like I've been spoiling you all since I made my initial calculations. Many chapters were supposed to be quite a bit shorter, but I've been including the odd POV scene or two when I wasn't supposed to. So far as I can tell, this means my Friday chapter will actually be the last chapter of the story. Sorry to mislead you! However, as I mentioned before, I'm already shoulders-deep in the sequel though I've yet to finish the draft and make my final edits. I find myself a little torn: should I take a month off from posting to work on the story as a whole or should I start posting the early chapters next Monday and beg forgiveness if anything needs to change?
> 
> In a proper cop-out, I'll turn it over to you guys. Which option do you all prefer?

The man in question nodded heavily, keeping a tight lid on his own stress levels as Crawley clicked off the voice recorder with a nod.

"That should about cover it," Crawley announced, tucking the device into his inner jacket pocket. The other agent in the room met his eyes, stepping to the side as Crawley lifted himself out of Alex's desk chair. He straightened his cuff link. "We should have official approval within the hour."

There was no going back now. MI6 had Yassen' voice on record promising to sell very specific Scorpia secrets- alliances, contacts, locations, even passwords to company accounts- in exchange for staying with Alex. This would wind up in Scorpia's hands even if MI6 had to personally hand-deliver it topped with a shiny red bow. His information wasn't any less compromising even if they knew that he'd leaked it and MI6 had a vested interest in ensuring Yassen had no expectation of Scorpia's protection should he reneg on his side of the deal. Even if Scorpia managed to extract him before any actual information left his lips, he'd be killed for daring to be willing to divulge their secrets.

Hopefully, they wouldn't get wind of it until after the extraction.

There'd been no avoiding it. No other way to ensure that Alex was kept with him during the extraction attempt. Yassen had also gambled on the idea that the organization would attempt to recover him during transportation. Normally inmates of the Gibraltar prison were never transported in the same van. That had been one of the specific details Yassen had quickly specified: Alex and he had to be transported together, every step of the way.

Let Crawley think Yassen was paranoid of betrayal, that he feared that Alex would be trundled off to another facility as a power move. It wouldn't matter soon.

Crawley paused by the door, turning back to him. "Forgive me for asking, Mr. Gregorovich, but exactly why is tandem transfer so important to you? You could just as easily ask for early release or a private island or witness protection or any number of other things. Why haven't you?"

Yassen shrugged and ignored the real question the man was asking: why was Alex so important to him? "Alex will never be released, no matter what I do. I can't look after him from a private island."

Crawley's face creased as he hovered in the doorway. He opened and shut his mouth. With one last shake of his head, he strode down the hallway without a backwards glance.

Yassen found himself a little startled. What had the man wanted to say? He almost looked concerned for that split second. Certainly not for Yassen, so by default, that meant his concern was for the boy.

Yassen snorted, swatting away the feathers of derision that came with the thought. Of course the agent was concerned, the hypocrite. People like him were likely how Alex got into this mess in the first place. Most would probably say that Alex was a wonderful boy who was being unfairly taken advantage of. These same people would hope him the best, but none were willing to intervene or put themselves at risk on his behalf. The boy was just so damn useful that they'd rather sigh and call it a shame rather than send him home.

Giving the two agents another minute to clear the cell block, he rose from his perch at the end of the boy's bed. There was no way to anticipate precisely when the extraction would happen or when the head of MI6 would sign the official exchange, so it was best if he stuck to the Alex's side for the rest of their time here. With any luck, he was finishing up with the warden by now.

He met Alex on the path, fighting a small twitch of irritation when he saw how pale the boy was, how tense his expression as Dr. Brett tried to engage him in conversation. Alex's face lightened with relief as he spotted him, which Yassen decided very definitely did not make him feel warm inside at all.

Yassen fought the urge to bury his face in his hands. That feeling was all over the place today. If he didn't know any better, he'd have thought he was ill.

Dr. Brett frowned at Alex, obviously noticing something along the same lines. Yassen would have to do something about him. The doctor clearly found his responses to Alex's hallucinations lacking (Yassen suppressed another wave of irritation at the the thought, given that the doctor had no experience with Alex personally) and likely didn't consider him to be a safe or competent minder. Yassen was inclined to agree, having optimized the last fifteen years for killing people rather than providing child care. That being said, Alex certainly didn't have many feasible options besides Yassen. Dr. Brett might have experience with violent children, but most children didn't know martial arts, much less possess the willingness to use them at the drop of a hat.

"Is the deal done?" Alex asked, coming to stand next to him on the path and deliberately shifting away from the other man to exclude him from the conversation. One might hazard a guess that the "getting to know each other" hadn't gone well.

Yassen tilted his head. "The conditions have been determined, though I've yet to actually divulge any information. We're waiting on Mrs. Jones to confirm the final list before we move forward. The transfer will happen regardless."

"But we'll both go?"

"That's non-negotiable," Yassen assured him.

"Do you know where they'll move us to next?" Alex fidgeted, glancing around at the lush landscaping in the late afternoon light. The distant smell of the sea reached them even here. The boy sighed. "I hope it's not a normal prison."

Yassen shrugged, wishing he could tell him otherwise. Truthfully, he doubted there was another prison like this in all the world. Few countries would bother investing money in a pleasant facade for their human rights violations; it was adorably British in its own way, not that he was inclined to complain. As much as Yassen planned to escape, there was still a solid chance he'd fail. Alex's expectations had to be set accordingly. "I have no idea. Naturally, it'll have to be secure, so we likely won't get any details until we're there. We can deal with that problem when it arrives."

Alex grimaced. "We should probably start packing, then."

Yassen shook his head. "Our things will have be screened between facilities, so they'll probably be sent along after us. We can do whatever you want before dinner, though."

Alex shot a baleful look over his shoulder at the doctor carefully listening in on their conversation and calmly ignoring Alex's coldness. He hesitated for a long moment, more anxious than Yassen expected.

The contract killer eyed the doctor askance. Had he really made such a negative impression on the teenager in such a short time? He'd struck Yassen as clinically rigid, prescriptive, and overbearing, but surely Alex had dealt with worse. It was possible Alex might just be on the brink of a typical panic attack.

Alex finally spoke. "Let's go to the library. Isn't Dart giving another presentation on international relations in the south pacific tonight?"

Yassen considered him briefly before nodding.

The boy was up to something. Yassen had dragged him to the library to hear the presentation last time, mostly as a way to keep him occupied and alert until dinner time, but it had proved futile. The boy wasn't particularly interested in the topic anyway and had fallen asleep in his chair. He doubted that Alex was really so eager for another nap, but perhaps he was angling for an activity in which Dr. Brett couldn't speak to him directly.

If that was Alex's concern, he shouldn't have bothered. Dr. Brett nodded at them both and took a step in the direction of the administrative block. "I'm afraid this is where I take my leave. Alex, it was good to meet you. I think we'll have a very productive time together. Mr. Gregorovich." With a final nod, he took off before Alex could open his mouth and spout something suitably rude.

"I hate that guy already," Alex sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets.

 

Carlos was arranging chairs in front the whiteboard when they arrived. The presentation area was on the north side of the building, close to the front desk but far enough away from the main reading area that those not interested in the current lecture or demonstration could read undisturbed. Ahmed and Abed had already arrived, cheerfully flicking through a handful of newspapers while they waited for Dart to finish gathering his notes.

Alex grabbed a magazine off the rack without looking at it, furthering Yassen's suspicions. "Let's go sit over there," Alex said, leading the way to the table furthest from the cameras. Yassen eased his current language text off the shelves nearby, careful to follow at a slow and measured pace. He watched as Alex dropped into a chair and flipped open the celebrity magazine, staring at it without reading it.

Yassen joined him after a minute or two, nodding to Dart as he passed. As soon as he slid into the seat next to Alex, he felt a quick pressure as Alex slid something into his pocket. Yassen didn't acknowledge the move, flipping to the page he'd left on.

What was it? It was too small to be his iPod. There wasn't a single thing Yassen could think of that Alex would want to give him, much less with any degree of secrecy. A note? He'd never tried before, despite the many, many things between them Yassen hoped to eventually discuss.

He waited another ten minutes, when Dart's lecture was about to start. Standing smoothly, he nodded to Carlos and walked to the library's only restroom. Once he was locked inside, he quickly unfolded the papers and scanned them.

The first thing that struck him was that the handwriting was not Alex's. Based off the handful of _WTF?!s_ scribbled in the margins, his first bet would be the ever professional Dr. Wood. He devoured the words, committed everything to memory as best as he could before tearing it up into tiny pieces and flushing them.

Alex nibbled on his nails, still perched in his chair when he returned. The same glossy _Who Wore It Best?_ page of his ill chosen celebrity magazine stared up at him, clearly neglected. He glanced up at Yassen sharply before quickly returning his gaze to the table. Fortunately for them, Alex had several other reasons to be anxious this evening. Even if the guards monitoring the cameras reported his behavior, neither the warden nor Crawley would think much of his pre-relocation jitters.

"Stop that," Yassen told him absently, glancing at the clock as though minding the time, instead of frantically trying to work his way through the implications of the information contained in the note. "It's bad for your nails. Let's move seats. Dart's about to begin."

Yassen was careful to keep his expression mildly attentive as Dart began by giving everyone a quick rundown of the historical relationship between the various parties involved in the United States military presence in the Pacific Islands. Normally, Yassen would have found the topic interesting. Internally, he ran through each and every line he could remember from the note. He didn't know what worried him more- that his blood appeared to be in hot demand or that Alex's condition was almost certainly chemical. No doubt the vaccine Yassen received from his parents as a child was the culprit of his strange blood anomalies; he had long wondered if it had any bearing on why he never seemed to be ill. Perhaps he was even still immune to anthrax. Regardless, he wasn't entirely sure why it would be of such interest to either Scorpia or his homeland. If he could evade capture, it was a problem to ponder later.

Yassen snuck a glance at the boy, noticing the way his fingers clenched the edges of his chair, watching Dart without blinking. Dart seemed to notice this, but other than the occasional glance, didn't seem all that bothered. Alex's odd behavior would be chalked up to a hallucination of some variety or a panic attack, so long as Yassen could maintain his typical mannerisms.

Alex's condition was reversible.

Something deep inside him had eased when he'd seen those words scribbled along the yellow sheet. Once they were away from here, Alex could resume a semi-normal life- without the hallucinations, even the worst of his remaining symptoms would be manageable. He'd probably still want to find the boy some kind of mental health professional to ensure he was on the right track, but at least he'd be able to keep himself together in public. Hiding him in a boarding school somewhere would be infinitely easier. They just had to leave and let the injections run their course over the next few months. Alex would bounce back in no time.

Of course, there were still several more considerations Yassen would need to see to. On top of the basic necessities of life outside the prison, Yassen would have to consult some sort of specialist about those injections. How much growth had Alex missed out on over the last several months? There was always the possibility that Alex would see a reduction in his adult size and Yassen had no idea if that would require some sort of medical intervention to correct. Surely there was some kind of hormone treatment that could help him catch up, if Alex wanted it. It might not matter to the boy. After all, he'd have his mind back.

Or wonder for the rest of his life if he'd been robbed of the extra inches. Bitterness flooded him unexpectedly. He hadn't realized he still harbored suspicions that if he'd gotten more protein as a child, he'd be at least another two inches taller.

_At least._

Yassen folded his arms, trying not let any surliness show. Of course Alex would want the treatment.

He snuck a second glance at Alex, not bothering to conceal the move as he was expected to check on him periodically. Alex was glancing at him underneath his fringe, still gnawing on his nails.

And a haircut, he decided. The child could nearly pull the long strands into a ponytail.

Dart drew a rough sketch of a military vessel, adding lazy wavy lines beneath it to indicate bodies of water. "Now, if you'll forgive my chicken scratches here, you can see that in this case, the location of the navy was strategically aimed at-"

The glass doors at the front of the library slid open, admitting two guards. They glanced around the library before spotting the small group sitting in front of the presentation and made their way over. The taller of the two snapped his fingers at Yassen and Alex. "Come on, you two. Get up. Time to go."

MI6 must be eager to move them. He'd expected a summons sometime late in the night.

Yassen shot Alex a glance and stood. The boy copied him, chewing on his nails again with a ferocity that belied his anxiety. He wondered what Alex made of the note, given his delusions that they were in some sort of afterlife. What connections had the boy made? It was clear that it had some kind of impact. His ravaged nails were proof of that.

Alex would just have to hold it together. There'd be no time to discuss the significance of the note, not until they were either on the run or secured in another location by whatever entity managed to claim them.

The guards led them to the holding area by the entrance, rather than to the warden's villa as Yassen expected. The warden himself was there, spine ramrod straight, flanked on one side by Crawley and on the other by a military officer Yassen had never seen before. The Royal Gibraltar Regiment, given his uniform and patches. Probably there to provide escort security. Nurse Scalia stood uneasily off to the side. Dr. Brett was nowhere to be seen.

"Mr. Gregorovich," Crawley greeted him, before letting his eyes drift to the boy hovering beside him. "And Alex. Sorry to do this before dinner, but we need to keep a tight schedule I'm afraid. Are you both ready to go?"

Alex shrugged, glancing up at Yassen again, who waved a hand at the entrance to the holding area that led to the gate. "Let's get on with it."

Crawley nodded to the nurse. "First things first."

Scowling at the sight of a familiar needle, Alex snapped, "Do I really have to? I'm already half asleep as it is."

"Not to worry. It's a small dose to help keep things running smoothly. You might not even fall asleep," Scalia assured the boy. His stiff shoulders betrayed his tension, despite his easy smile as he glanced around at the Royal Regiment men within the pen. "Try and go easy on these lads. I think you make them nervous."

Alex winced as the needle slid into his arm. "I think they've mistaken me for the Hulk. You told them I don't actually turn green, right?"

"Yes, the turquoise shade is quite fetching. Mentioned it first thing." Scalia patted his arm and swallowed, something unhappy entering his gaze before it was quickly covered up. "Safe trip, Alex. You too, Six."

Yassen nodded to him as the nurse tucked the needle back into his bag and left.

The officer stepped forward, pulling out two sets of handcuffs and nodding to the soldiers stationed inside the holding pen. A nondescript white van with blacked out windows waited within, rear doors thrown open to reveal two benches lining either side of the interior. Metal paneling blocked off the driver's area, offering no access other than a small vent. One of the soldiers nodded to his commanding officer and began winding a chain through the metal links attached to the ceiling, obviously meant to secure their restraints while allowing for some movement.

Yassen held his wrists out, expression bland as the metal cinched tightly around them. Alex grimaced when they did his, clearly unhappy but yet to feel the full effects of the sedatives.

Four soldiers led them both to the van, one on each side to grip either arm. Yassen went first, allowing them to shove him in and secure him to the chain without complaint. Shifting, he realized they'd left him about a foot of slack: just enough to scratch his nose but not enough to touch anyone else. Alex and his escort followed, though he was dwarfed by the two large soldiers as they half lifted him into the vehicle in their haste to get him inside. Shockingly enough, Alex was seated directly next to Yassen. Apart from his insistence that they be transported in the same vehicle, he hadn't specified the placement of their seats. Perhaps Crawley was trying to curry favor with Yassen, or more likely, minimize the odds that Alex would get violent. The four soldiers sat as well, one on either side of them and the other two on the bench across from them.

The warden stood in front of the open doors for a few seconds. He opened his mouth as though he wanted to say something, before nodding and closing it. "Good luck, boys," he said at length, before another soldier slammed the doors shut.

The engine rumbled to life, followed by the loud groan of creaking metal as the large gate defending the prison drew open. Everyone within the van swayed as it unexpectedly lurched forward and then they were moving.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey guys! So we have made it to the last chapter. This is super exciting for me! What a way to kick off my birthday.
> 
> I still haven't quite made up my mind whether I'll start posting the sequel on Monday or if I'll just give you guys a teaser while I hurry to finish it up. I'm still open to input if anyone has an opinion, however. :D

The van began its twisting and turning journey, obviously struggling to navigate some rather hairpin turns. Despite the sudden lull, Yassen took advantage of the time to study their escorts. Basic soldiers dressed in olive camo, armed with routine equipment: short range radios, sidearms, bullet proof vests, rifles. Yassen's eyes missed nothing. One or two had a backup guns in ankle holsters. Each soldier's belt came equipped with several pouches, likely offering ammunition, sedatives, and keys to the restraints. That was of particular interest to him. While it seemed like an oversight to give each soldier a key, in the event of an attack, all would need the ability to relocate the prisoners securely should the van become indefensible.

Yassen considered his options, ignoring the way Alex slid against his side as the van completed another precarious turn. Their body armor was basic and ended right at the neck, from what he could tell from the tell tale bulk beneath their uniforms. Not only would it leave them vulnerable to a well placed neck strike, but it would likely limit their range of motion as well.

Not that everything was in his favor. There were too many of them to take on at once, especially in close quarters and especially armed as they were. Of course, he'd have to find a way out of his restraints first. Perhaps if he-

Force hurled him against the side of the van, spinning them wildly.

Glass shattered somewhere nearby, but the reinforced windows held. Alex's head slammed against the metal, as did two of the guards. Fighting his momentum, Yassen reached out as best as he could, feeling the boy's head slam into his marginally softer wrists. The van spun a second time, coming to a sudden, jerking stop.

Yassen spared him a quick glance. Dazed, Alex's eyes remained wide and semi-lucid. It would have to do.

Gunfire erupted, semi-automatic rounds pitting on either side of them and rattling the exterior.

Radios squawked to life. "-under attack. Three vehicles, unknown number of assailants. Requesting immediate backup-"

Something pounded against the back door.

The soldiers gripped their rifles and raised them to ready positions, flicking off their safeties with a series of sharp cracks.

The one closest to the door twisted to face the others. "Hold your positions. Unless they break through, we do not-"

The van rocked as more shouts erupted outside, before a small controlled explosion sounded. One of the driver's doors ripped open with a shriek, rocking the suspension and leading to more gunfire.

The soldier nearest the door hesitated for only another second. If the driver and commanding officer had been killed, it was far more dangerous to stay in the back and let what Yassen assumed were Scorpia agents drive the van to a new location to be dealt with at their leisure. "Swanson, guard the prisoners. Mestiza, Tates, you're with me. Let's go."

The soldiers shoved open the doors, allowing Yassen one quick impression of three sets of vehicle lights broken only by the silhouettes of several dark figures, before shutting them sharply behind them.

The final soldier, Swanson, shot them an uneasy look before returning his gaze to the door. His breath came is short, controlled pants.

Alex was also riveted on it. Yassen nudged him with his knee and gave him a pointed look, blinking slowly. Seconds passed like an eternity. Yassen feared the child hadn't understood before Alex gave a small nod. Head tipping backwards, Alex slumped painfully against the van, arms dangling in his restraints above him in a solid imitation of a faint.

The radio crackled to life. "-reinforcements are en route. Team Delta's ETA is two minutes-"

Another volley of gunfire. Something that sounded like a grenade, too close for comfort.

"He's passed out," Yassen snapped, voice fast and urgent. "His head is bleeding."

The soldier glanced at the boy with a frown, shifting uneasily in his defensive position. Alex's slump was far too uncomfortable to be an obvious ploy. "It'll have to wait. Backup will send medics."

The van rocked again.

"That won't matter if he bleeds out," Yassen said, tugging on the chain securing him to the wall with a loud rattle. "At least put pressure on the wound. I'd do it myself, but I can't."

The soldier tore his eyes away from the door as the van began to inch forward. The radio fell silent. He stiffened, but it was impossible to tell who had taken control of the vehicle. Yassen couldn't feel the engine running, so likely it had simply been shifted into neutral and pushed.

The brakes screeched to life, halting them suddenly.

Panic-logic unfolded in the eyes of the soldier before him, the horror and realization breaking across his face like a crashing wave: he had to move the prisoners and assess the situation, with no guaranteed backup. The boy had to be conscious if they were to have a chance at getting out of here.

Rifle hanging by it's strap, he leaned forward to inspect Alex's head, fingers probing the blonde hair. He activated his radio with his free hand. "Prisoner injured. Requesting medical assistance. I don't see any blo-"

Yassen barely had enough slack; a centimeter less and he would have failed. Dragging himself forward, he felt the metal cuffs dig into his flesh and nearly dislocate his wrists as his fist dug into the man's jugular. He twisted. The soldier let out a strangled, wet garble as Yassen dragged him close enough to snap his neck.

He carefully shifted the corpse, trying to reposition the man's belt near his own hands. Another explosion rocked the van, followed by the droning whir of helicopter blades.

Alex sat up, staring at the limp man now lying in his lap. "Did you-?"

"Get the key," Yassen ordered him, nodding to the belt. "Check the first pouch."

Alex stared down at the dead man for a long second before self-preservation kicked in. Uncertain hands reached for the belt, fingers trailing along the edges of the pouch and fumbling with the catch. "I can't find it," he moaned, probing around before moving on to the next compartment. He exhaled with relief, hands fumbling as he produced a small silver key. Twisting his arms painfully, the boy managed to unlock himself with an almost inaudible click.

He turned to Yassen, key clutched between slim fingers, eyes flicking back to the dead soldier.

The assassin felt himself chill. "Alex?"

Another volley of semi-automatic gunfire made up the boy's mind. He quickly leaned over the dead man and wrestled Yassen's restraints off. "What do we do?" he asked, staggering as the van was knocked aside by a good three feet.

Yassen ripped the handgun free of the soldier's holster and checked the clip. Full and ready to go. He replaced it smoothly. "We'll have to chance it." Rooting around with his other hand, he tugged free the second, smaller handgun the man had concealed in his ankle holster and held it out. "Take this."

Alex's mouth dropped open. "You're giving me a gun?"

Another grenade went off, somewhere to their left. The sporadic gunfire was beginning to thin, though there was no way to tell which side was winning. The entire fight had only started less than three minutes ago.

"There's active shooting out there." Yassen felt his eyes narrow. "Why wouldn't I?"

Alex took the gun from him gingerly. "MI6 never let me have one, no matter how dangerous it was."

Yassen let out a disgusted sigh. "Of course they didn't." He braced himself against the door and turned back to Alex. "Stick close to me. Can you do that?"

"I think so. That injection is starting to kick in." Face tight and drawn, Alex looked down at the gun like he couldn't quite feel it's weight in his hand. Whatever fatigue inducing effects imparted by the sedatives had to battle the boy's adrenaline. They wouldn't have long. Yassen wasn't stupid enough to think that Alex would be much good in a fight in this condition, but hopefully he could stay on his feet long enough for Yassen to find them an exit. Semi-alert would have to do.

Yassen spared a second to wonder exactly what Alex's delusions made of all this before he flung open the van door.

High-beams assaulted his eyes, forcing him to drop into a quick crouch on the road. He felt rather than saw Alex do the same, pressing up against the reinforced metal of the van. A navy-blue sedan had pulled up horizontally behind the van, leaving ten feet of space between the two but otherwise blocking the road leading down the peninsula. It's crumpled fender suggested it as the source of the first impact, though now it offered cover to the two of remaining British soldiers as they returned fire. Their comrade lay fallen beside them, body still. Two more cars, dark shapes in the dim evening light, pointed directly at them from a position further up the sloped road; muzzle flashes appeared sporadically, set against the flickering orange strip of the mediterranean.

Yassen took a quick glance around the edge of the van, up the steep winding road that led back to the prison. Two large pickup trucks had forced their way around the van. Using them as shields, seven more Scorpia agents provided suppressing fire at the military forces trying to follow them down the road. Twenty yards to their left, a small, black helicopter waited in a tiny clearing between the trees of the jungle, rotors spinning and flanked by another four men approaching dressed in a mixture of black and white gear.

Scorpia.

The tide had turned. It took him all of a split second to decide his next move.

Yassen turned to Alex and grabbed his arm. "Stay close and just go along with it. Don't fight back. Don't question me."

"What? Who are they?"

"Scorpia."

Alex tried to jerk out of his hold, but his movements were unsteady. The sedatives must have been a bigger problem than he'd realized. "I told you. They'll kill me-!"

He shook the boy by the arm, giving him a hard look. "Just trust me. I have a plan."

Panicked brown eyes met his. Something flickered in them and he stopped trying to free himself. "Okay."

One of the regiment soldiers sheltering behind the sedan noticed them and turned back to hiss, "Get back in the-"

A bullet between his eyes silenced him. Yassen's gun spat out another, effectively ending the last of the British military presence in the center of the fight. Now, they were simply surrounded on the edges of Scorpia's makeshift barriers.

Alex's hand dug into his arm as Yassen dragged him towards the helicopter, refusing to release him. Given Alex's wobbly gait, Yassen realized that his grip was likely the main thing keeping the boy on his feet. The four men he'd spotted before shifted their weapons away from them as Yassen approached, nodding at him from behind their night vision goggles.

One man rushed forward, the light reflecting off his thin, but well built bullet proof vest. Mid-thirties, a tattoo of an octopus spidering it's way up his arm. Unfamiliar. He nodded to Yassen as the other three men swarmed around them, providing them with cover fire as a few shots made it past the wall that Scorpia had built with their vehicles. He had to shout to be heard over the whirring of the blades. "Gregorovich, we were told only you would be extracted-" he began, American accent just barely discernible over the noise.

"The boy comes." Yassen dragged him forward, as though to emphasize the point.

The man hesitated, eyes flicking back to Alex. "But that's-"

"Hey, Walker," Alex said, voice slurred as his fingers tightened around his gun. At least he'd had the good sense to lower it. "You graduated?"

Yassen felt his lips press together. Fantastic. Of course they'd run into someone who recognized Alex. The luck of the devil swung both ways.

He jerked his head at the helicopter, meeting Walker's eyes squarely. "Catch up later. I'll deal with the consequences, but he comes."

Walker gave a sharp nod, obviously unwilling to run out the precious few seconds they'd bought by arguing with their target. Stepping forward, he unceremoniously ripped Alex's handgun from his grasp and shoved him at the helicopter. "Very well. We need to move."

Alex tensed and scowled, but stayed close to Yassen as he staggered across the uneven ground. Not that he had a choice since Yassen refused to release his arm until they were onboard.

The pilot glanced back at them through the open door, but quickly returned his attention to the controls. Landing in this spot had been tricky enough, Yassen knew, and taking off without hitting any of the trees would be even harder. Once that was accomplished, there would almost be the matter of avoiding whatever forces the prison and surrounding military bases could muster in the next five minutes.

He pushed Alex in front of him, half lifting him into the helicopter before anyone else could climb in. "Put on your seatbelt."

Alex twisted to give him an irritated look from where he was struggling to climb over the seats, lips bloodless and eyes hazy. "That's what you're worried about? Now? That's what you think is going to get me killed?"

Yassen took the seat next to him, reaching over to snap the little spy's buckle himself.

Walker followed them in and crouched in the open doorway, snapping orders to the two men on the ground. The other operative took the seat across from Alex. One seat less than expected, the team's escape plans would have to be adjusted on the fly but Yassen was certain that the priority was to get in the air immediately. Whatever anti-aircraft munitions available on the peninsula were likely seconds away from being fully operational.

With a final nod, the two agents on the ground nodded and took off for the trucks.

The Scorpia agent across from Alex shoved a headset at the boy before offering one to Yassen. Grasping it, Yassen rammed the man in the chin, effectively knocking him out before turning to the door.

Walker pivoted mid-crouch, gun raised. Already too late.

Yassen never wasted a second. His bullet caught the man right in the side of his head. Hopefully Alex hadn't been too fond of the man.

Yassen kicked Walker's body out the open door, spinning on his heel to grab and haul out the prone form of the second man. It was difficult to gather the momentum in such a cramped space, but Yassen had done dicier things in smaller confines and quickly sent the body tumbling to the ground.

The pilot shouted something, twisting in his seat to aim at Yassen. A shot went out the open door, missing Yassen's shoulder by mere millimeters. He didn't manage to get off another before Yassen slid into the cockpit and shot him in the throat, catching a major artery before the man could begin calling codes into his headset. Blood spurted across the controls as the man instinctively dropped his gun, clutching at his throat.

Yassen scowled suddenly, wondering if the sight of spattered blood would fuel Alex's near inevitable panic attack. It was probably a small miracle he hadn't had one already, much less passed out. Yassen made a face as he finished the man off with a bullet to the temple, shoving open the pilot's door to dispose of the body even as he pulled the man's headset free of his head. Slipping it on, he slid between the seats and into the main cabin.

Alex clutched his harness with both hands, slumped forward in his chair, more or less cradled in it's straps. Yassen slammed the cabin door shut, not trusting the boy's unsteady legs enough to even bother asking him to do it, before turning to unbuckle him.

"I changed my mind. Come up front with me," he ordered.

Alex stared up at him, blinking slowly as Yassen ripped the straps free of his torso. There was no time for reassurances or to appeal to the part of Alex's brain still functioning through whatever fear or pharmaceutical based haze had swallowed him. Finally freeing the child, Yassen realized Alex's eyes had shut.

He grabbed his arm and tried to drag him from his seat. Alex shook his head, cracking open tired eyes with obvious effort.

"Can't," he mumbled, falling back against his seat.

Yassen only had seconds to decide. On the one hand, he was tempted to let Alex sleep in the cabin area in favor of getting them away. On the other, if he woke up or had some kind of hallucination, there would be nothing Yassen could do while flying the helicopter. He grimaced, hooking one arm around Alex's shoulders and the other behind his knees. The boy made a startled sound as Yassen carried him into the cockpit and dropped him into the co-pilot's seat.

"Seatbelt," he snapped, doubting Alex actually heard it.

"-rcraft Alpha, what's your status-"

He deactivated the radio and began checking the controls, noticing distantly that Regiment reinforcements had arrived and nearly broken through the Scorpia blockade. Fortunately, no one on Scorpia's payroll seemed to notice that their squad leader had died less than a minute ago. With luck, he had another before anyone realized they weren't being coordinated over the radio anymore.

Beside him, Alex struggled with his seatbelt. His blonde head seemed almost dwarfed by the large black headset, face pinched and weary in the soft green light of the cockpit. The sound amplifiers in his headset's microphone actually highlighted how faint his voice had become. "Yassen? I don't think I can stay awake much longer."

"Then don't," Yassen assured him, grabbing the lever as he gently tugged them into the air. "I'll wake you if I need you."

Yassen took off. The helicopter bobbed and swayed. Despite their proximity to the coast the wind was soft and negligible. Now, if he could just get them past the trees...

Alex absently bit his fingernails, seatbelt finally secure and struggling to keep his eyes open. "You're double crossing Scorpia. Again," he said.

"They'll kill both of us," Yassen explained, easing them up and out of the treeline.

The peninsula rose up beneath them, the mediterranean shining as the lights of Gibraltar flickered in the near-distance. Almost arbitrarily, he picked a direction along the coastline and opened the throttle. The chopper plunged forward instantly. Distance would be the biggest factor in their escape. Once he found a place suitably far from here to land, he'd have to focus on finding somewhere to lay low until he could access his accounts or steal whatever they needed to get out of the area.

Alex sighed and drew his knees up to his chest awkwardly. There wasn't much room in the cockpit to get comfortable. He shut his eyes. "Alright."

Something in his posture seemed off. Unless Alex was afraid of flying, he shouldn't be so tense, not as pumped full of sedatives as he was. "Are you having a hallucination?"

A sardonic smile curled around the boy's lips. "I've been having them ever since we got in the van."

Yassen furrowed his eyebrows, checking Alex over. "More than one?"

"Jack's burning," Alex mumbled, still not opening his eyes. His breathing was slow and steady, almost sleep-like. "Julius is laughing and you're bleeding." He opened his eyes then, the action seemingly taking a monumental amount of effort. A small, flickering smile was aimed Yassen's way. "The crocodiles are stuck on the ground, though. That's pretty good."

"Yeah," Yassen said, studying the boy in the dim light of the cockpit. Night closed in around them, reflected by the dark and rolling sea. The warmth of the sun had gone completely from the horizon, leaving a blank canvas for the stars flaring to life above them. "That's pretty good."


	22. Author Note and Teaser

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: I went ahead and posted the sequel. I ended up changing the name, so it's called Dysthymia now. :)

A/N: Hey everyone! So in response to everyone's questions, I thought I'd let you all know where I'm at right now. The sequel is nearly done: my best guess is that I have maybe another five chapters left to write. My goal is to push and try to get that done in the next several days and begin my major edits. With some luck and a lot of coffee, I hope that means I'll be able to start posting some early chapters by next Monday (or the next, should the creative gods be unwilling to work with me). 

After hearing everyone's input, I figure that it's better for me to beg forgiveness and risk the first few chapters needing minor edits (grammar, spelling, etc) after posting than to keep you guys waiting forever. One to two weeks should give me enough time to ensure basic quality. While I'm willing to relax on grammar checks, I don't want to post things that I know are incomplete on a story level (missing scenes, plot holes, etc.) and so I might have to delay posting once in awhile in order to fix those issues. This is my little compromise; I'm a novelist by habit, but fan fiction is serial in nature. My instinct is to keep polishing away at it for months before letting it see the light of day, but that's no fun. Also, the community is pretty understanding, all things considered: we're all amateurs here!

However, I'd hate to leave you guys with nothing this week so I thought I'd let you guys read the story description in advance. At the very least, you can get a sense of where the story is going to go. :)

Micropsia:

Yassen always knew his mid-life crisis would be spectacular. Breaking out of prison was supposed to make things easier. If evading every agency on the planet wasn’t hard enough, underestimating the scope of Alex’s withdrawal, escalating drug use, and physical capacity to worsen indefinitely certainly didn’t help things. Great. This is what he gets for getting attached.


End file.
